


To Have and To Hold

by Bethy1416



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/M, Flac, Optional Smut, Wedding, fake relationship trope, pretend to be a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethy1416/pseuds/Bethy1416
Summary: A wedding invite leaves Fletch unenthused and doubting his accomplishments. Upon hearing his woes, Jac surprisingly agrees to play the role of his girlfriend in order to impress his estranged family. As the Darwin Duo are thrown in at the deep end, will the newly-weds be the only couple enjoying the wedding night? (Contains the trope to end all tropes; Fake Relationship!)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a crack fic really, just writing it for a giggle so it won’t always be realistic; I’m hoping anything unrealistic adds a dash of comedy! Crappy prologue just to set the scene and answer some questions, my main focus is the wedding content. Will try to update on Fridays :)

Fletch had been straight-faced and impatient since he’d stomped into work this morning and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jac studies him as he sits on the sofa in her office, mug in one hand and file in the other, his jaw tensing as he reads. She rolls her eyes and throws her pen onto the wad of papers covering her desk.

“What’s got you in such a grump today?” she asks, raising a demanding eyebrow. This needs to be sorted, otherwise she can’t be held accountable for any action she takes against his moping puppy-dog face. 

“You’d tear me a new one if I asked you that,” he replies curtly.

She sighs. “Am I going to have to drag it out of you, Fletcher?” Again, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. 

He carelessly casts the file onto the empty cushion beside him and stands, retrieving a folded envelope from his back pocket and dropping it on her desk. He nods for her to open it. 

She eyes him, but slowly unfolds the envelope and hesitantly slips her fingers inside, withdrawing a sickeningly ostentatious ivory and rose-gold card. Her eyes widen at the sight and he puckers his lips, knowing her preconceptions and concurring with her.

“My cousin,” he informs her, providing context for the names on the card. “Didn’t think she was old enough to get married.”

“How old is she?” Jac asks, confused. 

“Early thirties. What I meant was, I haven’t heard from her in so long that I didn’t even realise she’d found a fella.”

“Will you be  _ RSVPing  _ your acceptance or not?” She bites back a judgemental smile as her eyes meet his.

“I haven’t spoken to her since my twenties, am practically estranged to that side of the family and have very unimpressive life updates to share. What do you think?”

“It’s a fortnight away!” Jac exclaims. “What sort of wedding invite arrives two weeks prior?”

“Was probably an afterthought, wouldn’t be surprised. Not to mention that it’s me and a plus one. I’ve got four kids and no other half, that shows how much they know.”

“So bin it. No point getting riled up over it now, is there?”

“What am I meant to say?”

“Nothing. Just don’t show up.”

He tilts his head and stares at her incredulously. “I can’t do that.”

“You  _ can _ but you  _ won’t _ , because you’re too polite for your own good.” She hands him the invite and envelope before picking up her pen again. “Just tell them you’re busy, it was too short notice.”

He squints as he processes her words, then nods. Yes, exactly, too short notice. He could manage that. 

 

Her phone rings as she’s finishing dinner, Emma’s mouth stained orange with pasta sauce.

“Hello,” she answers.

“I’m going.”

“Bon voyage,” she quips.

“Kate went all teary and said that she desperately wants me there and you know what I’m like, I can’t say no.”

“You mean to say that you got coerced by a snivelling bride?”

“Pretty much. It’s not good.”

“It really isn’t.” There’s a silence as neither know what to say. “It’ll be a  _ delightful  _ family reunion for you.”

“Don’t even joke about it, it’s serious. My only accomplishment is the kids and I daren’t take them as it’d send Kate into a full-blown breakdown over the table plan.”

She feels an unfamiliar flicker of sympathy in her gut as she listens to his woes. “Come on, Fletch. You’ve got a fancy new job, four great kids, a salary that can provide you all with life’s comforts.”

“None of which I have any proof of when I’ve got an invite for two to a wedding that, surprisingly, isn’t being held on Darwin.”

“If seeing you in action is the evidence they need, then cause someone a heart attack and admit them.”

“And here I was thinking that the end of that sentence would go along the lines of them not being worth my time should they not believe me.” She hears him laugh and she’s surprised to find her own lips curving upwards.

 

The conversation goes on for another few minutes before they both bid farewell for the night. Jac gets Emma ready for bed, but her mind keeps flitting back to Fletch and she tries to stamp out the niggling idea that’s furrowed deep into her brain. It’s as she’s trying to get to sleep that night, going over the day’s events and subsequently landing back on the wedding, that she questions her sanity. The little seed that had been planted is rapidly spiralling beyond control, spreading like ivy and rooting itself into all rationality, sparing no nook of common sense. So when she walks into work the next morning, her mind set and no amount of logic or reasoning to obstruct her, she goes straight to Fletch’s office and informs him of her decision, leaving him no choice in the matter.

“I’ll come with you,” she states. His expression goes from confusion to one of amusement and he waits for her to crack a smile, to tell him that he really is a plank for getting himself into this unnecessary situation. But she remains firm, her face set with sincerity.

“You can’t be serious,” he eventually replies.

“Why? I think you’d be pretty lucky to get somebody like me.”

He smirks but then frowns. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“With your incessant whining it’s a miracle I haven’t strangled you. Somebody like me probably would have by now.”

“Makes me wonder why you haven’t…” he says, suspicious. She quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t give a response other than that. “So... you’re serious?” 

The hesitancy in his tone does give her pause. Is she actually doing this? She really hasn’t thought it through. She’d thought  _ about  _ it, but not  _ through _ it and that’s never a good sign.

“Serious, genuine, absolutely out of my mind, yes.”

“And you’re free for that weekend?” 

“What?”

“Week Saturday,” he tells her. 

“Yes, Emma’s with Jonny that day.”

“What about Sunday? It’s a four hour drive away, I was going to stay overnight. It’ll be a late finish after the evening party.”

Her face falls. She really hadn’t thought this through. “Just text me the details,” she snaps before turning to leave. She needs a moment to wrap her head around it. 

 

They’d managed to have lunch together without discussing her recent proposition. He’d figured that he’d let her think about it. Later that night, Jac’s lying in bed when she realises she still hasn’t received any information from him so she texts him, squinting at the harsh light flooding across her face in the darkness of her room. ‘ _ Info?’ _

Five minutes later, her phone vibrates on her nightstand, a hefty message from him appearing on the screen.  _ ‘Saturday 25th. Need to leave by 6am, but I’ll drive. It’s in Mayview. Ceremony in a church followed by reception and food at hotel, Kate got me a room there as bribery. Wedding breakfast at 4pm. Evening party at 7:30pm. Check out by 11am on Sunday. No pressure from me for you to come, it’s completely your choice x’ _

She considers what her weekend would consist of if she didn’t go and decides that she’s got nothing to lose by accompanying him. 

_ ‘Good luck trying to get me out by 6am x’  _ she responds.

He wants to thank her, to ask a million questions, but figures it’d be best to leave that for another time.  _ ‘You can nap on the way if it’s any help!’  _ They both go to sleep with a puzzled smile on their faces.

 

There hadn’t been much conversation regarding the wedding for the past week, but now with only four days to go Fletch is needing answers to some burning questions and he can’t leave it much longer. He walks into Jac’s office with her customary chicken salad and his baguette in hand, shutting the door once he’s inside. 

“I’m starving,” she says, holding out a hand and beckoning for the salad. He smiles and passes it to her, happy that she’s in a good mood today. 

“So, look… Are you sure about Saturday?” he asks as he takes a seat on the sofa.

“Yes, I’ve told you.” 

There’s a pause as he chews through a bite of baguette. “I’ve let Kate know that I’m bringing someone but I can always call her ba-”

“If you don’t want me to go, Fletch, I won’t. Up to you.”

He sighs, relieved. He feels like he’s finally got confirmation that she’s genuine about this, despite her previous assurances. “I’d like you to.”

“There we are, then. Plus one; sorted.”

He smiles appreciatively, but it’s weighted with the uncertainty of a question that’s been lingering in his mind since she first suggested her attendance. 

“We should probably discuss ground rules,” he broaches, studying his baguette to avoid making eye contact. 

“What?” 

He’d hoped she’d know what he meant. “Let’s start with what exactly your plan is…” 

“Plan? I don’t know. Turn up, look pretty, pretend to care.”

“Right…”

“If you mean ground rules regarding our farce of a relationship, then yes, that needs discussion.” She eyes him, seeing the relief wash over him as she confirms her understanding; they  _ are  _ on the same page. Now that the words are out there, he shuffles to the edge of the sofa, enthusiasm renewed and a sparkle in his eye. Jac can’t help but wonder if this is a crack in time, that she’s actually witnessing teenage Fletch plotting a way to kiss a girl or embarrass a friend.

“So… quick fire. Go! Relationship status?”

“Established relationship. Not cohabiting.” 

He nods in agreement. “How long is  _ established _ ?”

“I don’t know…”

“A year?”

“Nine months,” she negotiates. 

“Okay. How did we meet?”

“Stick as close to reality as possible. Met when you got the D.O.N promotion, went for a drink a few weeks later.”

“Right. Now ground rules.”

“Don’t invite conversation with relatives that I have to take part in. Hands above waist. No dancing.”

“That’s surprisingly reasonable,” he comments. He can’t quite believe he is having this conversation, and with Jac Naylor of all people. “Have you got your frock picked out yet?”

“No, but it’ll be black. Is that suitable?”

“So long as you don’t upstage the bride, you’ll be fine.” He scrunches his nose and smirks, earning a roll of the eyes but a smile nonetheless.

 

They continue eating their lunch and he finalises some details about travel before they part ways for the rest of their shift. He daydreams the various outcomes, considers what she’ll wear, wonders what she’ll say. Four days. Four days, and then all shall be revealed. 


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

It’s six on-the-dot when Fletch pulls up outside Jac’s house on Saturday morning. He’d provided her with a delightful rendition of _Morning Has Broken_ , surprised that he’d even made it to the end of the first verse before she’d snapped at him and told him that she’d already showered, so a wake up call was an unnecessary effort. He’d messaged her as he was leaving, a last minute attempt at hurrying her along. Despite her usual promptness, he knows that attending a wedding is likely to be something any Naylor would dread—he’s expecting a certain degree of proverbial heel-dragging—so mix that with an early start and the prospect of four hours stuck in a car with him and he’s astounded that she’s opening the front door looking rather presentable. Neither of them are dressed for the wedding, agreeing that it would be pointless when they have such a long journey ahead of them, so they’d decided on wearing comfy clothes now and changing in their hotel room upon their arrival.

“We can definitely check-in before going to the church?” she asks him after his unbearably upbeat greeting.

“Yep. We’ll go straight to the hotel and then it’s only a ten minute drive to the church. Kate said my auntie will probably come to greet us.”

“What a joy,” Jac drawls, slipping into her coat. She untucks her hair from the collar as he picks up her overnight bag and then walks back through the open front door, waiting for her just outside. She runs through a mental checklist and when she’s certain she’s got everything, she grabs her wedding outfit from where it’s hung in a suit cover on the living room door, swings her handbag over her shoulder and follows him onto the doorstep. He offers to take the hanger from her and puts it in his car as she wrestles the key into the lock.

 

When they’re sat side by side in the front of his car, the realisation of what they’re doing hits them both. Are they really about to pretend to be together in front of his family? There had been several instances over the past two weeks where they’d each had cold feet and wanted to back out, but the guilt that pulsed through them at the idea of letting the other down had kept them on track to going through with it.

“I’ve allowed about an hour leeway for traffic and breaks, so let me know if you want to stop along the way,” he tells her as she settles into the seat beside him.

 

The first thirty minutes of the journey are quiet between them; nerves and the early hour silencing any conversation they can think of. His eyebrows rise with intrigue when she retrieves a book from the bag at her feet and flicks to the right page. He says nothing and focuses on the road, not wanting to interrupt her reading, but notes the front cover and it’s lack of medical terminology; he didn’t think Jac would read for pleasure and if she did then he’d assumed it would be linked to work somehow.

Another half hour later, the book is abandoned on her lap and her eyes are closed. He smiles softly at the endearing sight; her features are much softer in her sleep, the shadows aren’t as harsh and her skin has a warm glow. In a poor attempt at giving himself some company he turns the radio up from where it had been just a faint murmur in the background, ensuring that it’s not loud enough to disturb her. The roads have been clear so far, although they are gradually becoming busier as everyone wakes up. He hopes traffic won’t be an issue as it’s a Saturday but he prefers to be safe than sorry. Plus, he couldn’t guarantee Jac would be ready to leave in time… In all honesty, he’d scheduled in a spare twenty minutes solely for her leisure, but he’s not going to tell her that.

 

Another hour rolls by and he’s happy by their progress. However, he is desperate for a coffee and the toilet so he pulls off at the next service station. The sudden quiet as he cuts the engine rouses her and she squints at the morning light, sighing and stretching her arms.

“Just going to take a quick break, Sleeping Beauty,” he tells her gently, glancing across as she tries to ease the stiffness in her neck.

She clears her throat and removes her seatbelt. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past eight. We’re making good time, think we’ve probably got an hour and a half left.”

If it didn't go against her instincts she'd have apologised for falling asleep and leaving him to drive alone, but she figures he was the one that suggested it in the first place so she needn't feel this tugging guilt. “Coffee and loo?” he suggests as he grabs his jacket from the back seat.

“Allons-y, as they say.”

He quirks an eyebrow, impressed by her French, then gets out of the car. Jac tugs her coat around her as they walk towards the building and can’t stifle the yawn that has her mouth agape, ducking her head to cover it with her collar. He smiles secretly, finding Sleepy Jac far too lovable as she tries to come to.

 

Once they’ve reconvened after using the facilities, he goes to the coffee shop with her trailing behind. He slows his pace to wait for her a few times—as he recalls doing with his children when they were younger—but eventually decides to join the queue of weekend commuters, knowing he’d be stood there long enough for her to catch up. He orders their coffees, although in the time it takes for him to pat down his body to find the pocket containing his wallet she’s paid and is nudging him out of the way with their to-go cups in hand. She places them down on the condiments counter so she can grab a sachet of sugar for him and then startles when he lets out a triumphant, “Aha!”. She turns to face him as they stand with their shoulders brushing and gives him a pointed look, demanding an explanation for why she’d nearly ended up _wearing_ her coffee.

“I knew I had it,” he beams, waving his wallet at her. She rolls her eyes and pushes his cup against his chest before they both walk back to the car.

 

There’s more conversation on this leg of their journey, the extra sleep and dose of caffeine proving to be instrumental in improving Jac’s mood. Their chatter helps wake them both up and they find that the day ahead suddenly seems less daunting now that they’ve settled into their jovial ways. He tells her about the passive aggressive response he’d received when he’d dropped the kids off with their mother’s parents, all four children and their grandparents wanting to know why they weren’t invited.

“I can’t believe I had to defend myself against them. I mean, I understand the kids’ complaining, but Sue and Kev aren’t even related to them. Don’t think they’ve ever met Kate!”

“Some people will do anything for a free buffet, what do you think I’m doing here?” she smirks, casting a glance across at him. He shakes his head at her but is grinning nonetheless.

“Why you’re here, I will never know,” he comments. She tries to catch his eye again but he’s busy scanning his mirrors as he overtakes a lorry. Nobody needs to pay _that_ much attention when there are only three cars in sight, but she shrugs it off and filters it away for later thought.

A silence sits heavy in the air between them. Fletch focuses on the road and Jac defensively turns her head to stare out the passenger window, not wanting to confront the reason behind her being at his side.

“Could you check my phone?” he repeats. She turns to him, puzzled, and realises that she mustn’t have heard him the first time. She reaches for his mobile that’s tucked into one of the compartments beneath the centre console and wakes the screen.

“Just Evie…” she says, unsure whether he wants her reading his messages. At his expectant look, she continues relaying the text on the screen, “Are you there? Has Kate cried yet?” Fletch just chuckles in response and Jac turns to him, her face deadpan. “Is Kate renowned for her gratuitous sobbing?” she questions.

“She’s a sensitive soul.”

“You know me, Fletcher, so you know this will only end one way.”

“And what way would that be?”

“Well, I presume it’ll entail her blubbering on the floor whilst looking like a meringue.”

“With you towering above, victorious?” he adds, hoping she notes the jest in his tone.

“Precisely.” They share another smile, their hearts thrumming happily in their chests once again.

 

They eventually reach Mayview, an upscale town not too far from the coast. Jac is given role of navigator, which Fletch bigged up to be more than just casually typing in the name of the hotel then letting her phone do the rest. A sneaky hidden left turn has them cruising straight past and out the other side of town, causing Jac’s phone to begin spouting about U-turns.

“She sounds like she’s about to fit! Just turn around!” Jac instructs. Fletch pulls a quick one-eighty when the road is clear and they retrace the way they’d come, this time spotting the turning they have to take. The concealed road unfurls into a gravel driveway, immense cedar trees lining the grass border and eventually opening up to reveal the grand hotel entrance. Ivy clings to the Bath Stone used in the building; the cream walls contrasting with the autumnal colours of the vines and accenting the drained limestone fountain at the forefront. A glimpse of the hotel’s gardens can be seen before the backdrop of a valley view distracts the eye, but then it’s all behind them as Fletch slowly follows the signs to the car park. Jac’s amazed at how even the car park seems fitting and rather pretty, with it’s blooming cherry blossom trees fringing the brick paths. She’s only been somewhere like this a handful of times and rarely was it to stay.

 

When he parks and cuts the engine, they each turn to look at one another, stunned into speechlessness.

“And she just _gave_ you a room?” Jac suddenly exclaims. She knows a place like this wouldn’t exactly offer budget accommodation.

“We’ll probably find out she meant the shed or something.” He rubs a palm over his face, trying to iron out the creases that had formed on his forehead during the journey, then suddenly takes hold of her hand. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. The action momentarily confounds her, but without thought she’s offering him a warm—if hesitant—smile and squeezing his fingers in understanding. “You ready to do this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she responds. To any outsider, this exchange could have convincingly been between lovers.

 

They each stretch once they step out of the car, their backs popping as they shake the travel from their joints. Fletch opens the boot and removes their bags, easily carrying one in each hand, allowing her to sling their wedding outfits over her arm in order to prevent them from crumpling. They walk the path to an entrance, different to the one they’d seen upon arrival, where she holds the door open for him and follows him to the reception desk. The foyer is small, although not lacking in fancy decor, but is soon revealed to be—what Jac can only fathom as—the _pre-foyer_ . The _real_ foyer is through glossy wooden doors that are solely accessible with a keycard. This room is far more palatial, with strikingly carved pillars and marble floor, flowers and foliage overspilling from various vases. Despite how lavish it seems to be, it’s not overbearing. It’s simplistic and spacious and Jac finds it rather serene, especially in comparison to her usual territory in a manic hospital.

“Miss Clarke has the information packs for the suites she’s booked, I’ve just sent someone to inform her of your arrival,” the receptionist tells them as she shows them through to the main lobby before returning to her station at the hotel entrance.

“At least security is pretty tight,” Fletch comments, watching the woman leave through the hefty wooden doors.

Jac rolls her eyes at his painstaking attention to safety measures. “Am I right in presuming Miss Clarke is the weepy bride?”

Fletch gives her a warning glare but they both know it’s never going to work in deterring her sarcastic comments. “ _Kate_ ,” he insists. “Yes.”

“Kate Clarke. She sounds like she’s about burst forth in an eye-watering Lycra bodysuit and save the village people from reigning terror.”

“Jac,” he chuckles, any trace of scorn getting caught in his throat. “You have to stop, you’ve not even met her.”

“You’re right. But you’re going to regret saying that when she walks down the aisle sporting a red cape.”

He tries to hush her but she’s walking over to the seating area and he’s traipsing after her. She goes to the sofa that’s facing a window, laying the outfits—in their respective suit covers—on the coffee table before them. He places their bags to the side of the couch and then sits on the other end of the deep cushion, silently appreciating how the loveseat only allows for a small gap between them.

 

There’s a peace that settles over the lobby, with just the odd housekeeper or concierge passing through as they both gaze out of the arched window in front of them. The view is directly onto the gardens, with the rolling scenery backdropping the various benches and patio chairs. A few other guests, who Fletch doesn’t recognise to be part of his family, are enjoying the sun with breakfast on the ornate garden furniture. It’s nice, very quaint and charming, and he can’t help the excitement that bubbles up when he considers what the next twenty-four hours could entail. In fact, should all go according to plan, then he’ll still be with Jac this time tomorrow. He wonders if the novelty of spending time with her away from Holby will wear off anytime soon…

“Ady!” a woman’s voice singsongs behind them. The pair of them jump and spin to face her, their hearts pounding at the sudden sound in the silence. It takes Jac all of a split second to catch onto what this stout woman had said and it immediately brings a smirk to her face.

“Hello, Aunt Bessie,” he greets, his ears tuned for the snigger he knows Jac will be poorly swallowing back. He’s right, of course. He catches a glimpse of her turning away, scrunching her face with the will not to laugh, and it teases out a smile on his own lips as he hugs his aunt in greeting. When he pulls back, she reaches up to cup his cheeks in her hands and analyses him, her eyes tracing down his body.

“Unsure of the stubble,” she comments. “But golly, you are a handsome boy!” Right now, he’s grateful for the stubble covering the flush of embarrassment that’s working its way up his neck. He gives Bessie one of his captivating smiles and then steps back so he can introduce Jac who’s now stood beside the couch, fully recovered from her fit of amusement.

“This is Jac,” he says proudly, stretching out an arm in the way any person does when introducing somebody. That’s why it’s a shock to him when she steps into his personal space, her shoulder pressed into his side as she holds out a hand.

“Oh, now, dear! We’re family!” Bessie cheers, sidestepping the offered handshake and bundling Jac into a bear hug before Fletch can advise her against it. When they separate, Jac’s eyes are wide with surprise and he can tell she’s desperately holding back a Naylor Glare. “You got lucky with this one, Ady.” That comment seems to placate the redhead as she spins on her heel and sends him a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.

“That I did,” Fletch agrees, only Jac sensing his slight hesitancy.

“We’ll need to have a catch up, but now is not the time! T-minus one hour!” Bessie says, clapping her hands. “I’ll show you to your room and leave you both to get ready!”

The Holby pair turn back to the sofa they’d been sat on, a loaded glance flitting between them as they collect their belongings and follow the short, older woman across the foyer. When they’re walking up a rather grand staircase to the second floor, Bessie comes to keep in step beside Jac, forcing Fletch to hang back.

“Our Adrian hasn’t been in touch an awful lot,” the silver-haired lady begins, her voice hushed to keep the conversation between just the two of them. “So I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about you. We were worried when we heard of the shooting incident, how has he been?”

Jac finally looks into the face of Fletch’s aunt and notes genuine concern deepening the etchings in her skin. “He’s getting there,” she responds softly.

“Were you involved in it as well?”

Jac swallows. “We’re all getting there,” she amends. She’s surprised when a hand grips hers and she finds Bessie patting it comfortingly.

“Time is the best healer.”

Normally, Jac would argue that that outlook usually results in sepsis, but she snaps her lips shut.

Bessie disappears into the bridal suite to collect their keycard and tells them to wait outside as Fletch ascends the last few stairs. He comes to stop beside Jac who’s suspiciously silent.

“What was she saying to you?” he asks, stepping closer to her.

“She just wanted to know how you are,” Jac replies.

“And what else?”

She sighs. It’s worrying how well he’s honed his ability to read her now. “They were all concerned about you after the shooting.”

Fletch is about to respond when Bessie’s voice can be heard on the other side of the door. “We’ll talk about this in a minute,” he whispers as the door opens. Bessie waves the cards and starts off down the corridor, the two of them trudging after her. When they reach the right room, Bessie opens the door for them and lets them pass. She tells them the time they need to leave and bids farewell, handing the keycards to Fletch before leaving. They’re only stood in the doorway, so when they move further into the room their eyes widen as they take in their living quarters for the next twenty-four hours.

 

There’s a large bed, the white sheets seeming crisp against the dark mahogany base that sweeps up to form the head and footboards. There are a couple of tall-back armchairs stationed around a small coffee table and facing towards the focal arched window on the far wall. Jac can glimpse the same view of the valley outside, but this time there’s not the distraction of hotel gardens. She takes the two suit covers to the wardrobe, the doors carved with intricate patterns, and hangs them inside. When she turns back into the room with her hands on her hips, Fletch has come to sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed and is watching her carefully. The question of sleeping arrangements is ringing around both of their heads but neither want to raise the topic first. Instead, she goes to the ensuite door and peers inside, shutting it again moments later with an impressed expression on her face.

“Right,” she eventually says, the weight of the silence being too heavy on her shoulders. “What’s the plan?”

“We’ve got forty-five minutes until we should leave for the church. I could do with something to eat before then.”

“You get ready out here, I’ll sort myself out in the bathroom. Go get us a snack when you’re done?” she suggests, a rather cute smile bribing him to agree.

 

She rummages in her overnight bag for her toiletries then disappears into the ensuite to do her makeup. Meanwhile, he’s shrugging into his usual work suit, making sure to fasten the buttons on his vest to give it a more formal look. He’s done within a few minutes and knocks on the door separating them.

“I’m going to go on the hunt for food,” he tells her.

“See you in a bit.”

He lingers by the closed door for a moment, then leaves their room. He just gets down to the lobby when he realises he’s forgotten his wallet, so cursing at his incompetence, he runs back up the stairs again. He gets to their door, swipes his keycard and quickly barges in, not expecting the expletives that come tumbling from Jac’s lips.

“Shit, Fletch! What the hell!” she yells, spinning to face him as he obliviously wanders into the room. It’s only when his eyes land on her that he realises the cause for her outcry; she’s stood in front of the tall, free-standing mirror in their room just about wearing a rather appealing black jumpsuit. The awkward zip at the back of the torso was difficult, so she’d been temporarily pinning the two sides together with her fingers as she’d analysed herself. However, his reappearance had startled her and she’d lost grip on the material, so standing there now he can see the pale expanse of her back in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth opens and shuts, muddled syllables catching in his throat. “For Pete’s sake! Take a picture!” she huffs, throwing her arms up in disbelief before storming back into the ensuite. Perhaps he could have responded better…

 

Upon the slam of the door, he raises his fists at himself and curses his dumbfounded idiocy; a million words he could have said yet he said nothing. He stares at the ensuite door, willing it to open, and wonders what the best next move would be… Does he say something? Leave her to finish getting ready?

He snatches up his wallet and rushes back out of their room, making sure the sound of the door shutting is loud enough for her to hear so that she knows the coast is clear. He returns to the lobby and gets pointed in the direction of the dining room as he tries to trackdown a bite to eat for them both.

 

Back in the room, Jac is listening out for the sound of his footsteps retreating down the corridor before stepping out of the ensuite. She catches her reflection in the mirror again and closes her eyes against the visual that he’d just seen. She grabs her suit bag from the wardrobe and hurries back into the bathroom, deciding to change into the backup outfit she’d brought; this one is far more comfortable, protective from unwelcome stares and suitable enough for the occasion. Once she’s done with redressing, she continues applying the natural tones of makeup which she’d abandoned earlier in the hopes of trying on her outfit in private before he’d have returned. That hadn’t worked out…

 

When Fletch gets back to their room, he hesitates outside the door and decides to knock this time. He gives a short rap and waits patiently for some indication of what his next move should be, but he’s not left panicking for long as she cracks the door open within a few seconds.

“You need to remember your key,” she says, walking away from him before he’s even through the threshold.

“I did… It just didn’t go well last time I used it… Sorry ‘bout that.” She shrugs as she awkwardly pauses in the middle of the room and turns to face him. “You looked lovely, if it’s any consolation.”

He sees a darkness flicker across her features but it’s gone before he has chance to consider it.

“Did you manage to get any food?” she asks. The sudden topic change abrupt, even for her. He holds up two yoghurts and a couple of individual brioches.

“Left over from breakfast.”

She says nothing, just goes to the armchairs in the window and takes a seat. He’s surprised to find two steaming coffees on the table in front of them which she’d brewed in his absence. He places the snacks next to them and falls into the armchair beside hers, picking up the teaspoons from the beverage tray and handing one to her. They both start with their yoghurts; tearing off the seal and dipping their spoons into the strawberry cream. There’s a silence between them that’s making Fletch uncomfortable as he mulls over the two conversations that he feels they need to have. When the words he longs to say are urgently creeping up his throat, he coughs and shuffles in his chair, earning a side glance from her.

“I am sorry about before,” he broaches.

“It’s fine, you startled me that’s all.”

He nods, but knows that there’s certainly more to the situation than she’s letting on. He sits there quietly trying to figure out how to approach it. “Why did you change your clothes?”

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, physically trapping any curt response before it can escape. He notices this knee-jerk reaction and knows he’s hit a rather sensitive nerve.

“This is more practical,” she states. He tries not to get distracted the next time she brings the spoon to her mouth, turning it upside down between her fingers and silently sucking the yoghurt from the tip.

“From my experience, weddings aren’t meant to be practical.”

“From my experience, they only ever end in divorce.”

“What I mean to say is that I can help you with the zip... if you were struggling earlier.”

She bows her head in contemplation. It was a tricky zip and the angle is more difficult to reach since sustaining her injuries, but she refuses to admit as much.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with what I’m wearing.”

Not that there was ever any doubt in her choice, but his eyes subtly rake over her attire as he takes her in for the first time since returning to the room. Her charcoal grey suit is more fitted than the clothes she’d taken to wearing after the shooting. The blazer is smart, pressed, and the sole button has been tugged closed beneath her breasts. A refreshing white t-shirt and a simple chain necklace—both of which are beautifully highlighting her collarbones—sit in the deep V neckline of her blazer, but the rolled up sleeves that rest in the crook of her elbows give the ensemble a more relaxed air; making it suitable for a wedding, rather than a business meeting. Her trousers match the jacket, and these too are more fitted than anything he’s seen her in for a while, with the legs tapered to end neatly around her ankles.

“No problem,” he smiles. That smile only grows when he catches the content glimmer reappearing in her eyes, although he can’t help feeling that something still isn’t right. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, now stop pestering.”

“If you’d just tell me, I wouldn’t have to pester, would I?”

“Well perhaps if you hadn’t seen me half-dressed then-”

“Oh! Now, come on. You were more than half-dressed. It’s not like I’ve never seen somebody’s _back_ before.” He feigns shock, as though the words he’d just uttered were daring and unprecedented.

“It _wasn’t_ just my back though, was it?” she blurts out, adjusting her volume when it starts off louder than necessary. It seems the sensitive nerve has snapped.

Fletch frowns, trying to recall whether she’d been indecently exposed. Unless he’d missed something, he knows for certain that he’d only seen her back; something he’d seen dozens of times as her nurse when reapplying her dressings. “I assure you, Jac. It was nothing indecent. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“ _You’ve_ seen it before yet you still stared. Other people haven’t, so who knows what reactions I’d get then.”

His frown deepens, the puzzlement growing. “I feel as though I’m missing something…”

She stares at him, pinning her eyes on his whilst trying to figure out his intentions. Is he just trying to be polite? Or does he genuinely have no idea what she’s saying?

“My _scar_ ,” she emphasises.

She watches his expression change to one of enlightenment before it’s quickly replaced with sympathy and something she vaguely associates with heartache.

“I hadn’t even considered it,” he states softly. “Honestly, I wasn’t staring, at least not at that. I was just as surprised to find you standing there as you were at seeing me. Any staring was unintentional. You were suddenly there and cursing and looking beautiful, it caught me off guard. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He purses his lips when he registers what he’d just said and offers a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry for swearing at you. Although I don’t know what you expected.”

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?” he asks after a few seconds.

“It doesn’t matter now, I’ve changed and it’s all sorted.”

“If it bothers you, it bothers me.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging her to amend that comment after seeing the way it had niggled at her just minutes ago. “Fine. It bothered me when I thought you’d been staring at it, but you hadn’t. Therefore, all is well.”

“Jac…”

“Look, I haven’t worn that outfit in years, I didn’t even know if it still fit before I tried it on the other day. The issue I have with it is that you can see my scar through the material at the sides, and at the time I _wasn’t_ bothered by it. But now I am. It’s not a problem you have to sort out, okay?”

He thinks back, trying to picture the jumpsuit in his head, and realises that the flanks were black lace and the cream of her skin could be seen through the intricate woven patterns.

“You wear what you want to wear, Jac. I’m not going to force you into an outfit that makes you uncomfortable. But at the same time, nobody will notice your scar. They’ll all be too focused on dancing or talking, I’m not even sure you can see it through the lace. I promise you, you looked lovely and you still do.”

Her cheeks flush a faint pink at the second compliment he’s given her since this conversation began.

“Thank you but can we just drop the subject now?”

He nods and squeezes her hand that’s resting on the arm of the chair. “

“What about this with my auntie? Did she say something to upset you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?” he asks, desperate to return to the relaxed couple they’d been upon their arrival.

“It was just… moving to see how concerned they were for you.”

He huffs out a very unamused chuckle. “If seeing their concern made you all pensive and solemn, then perhaps it’ll cheer you up to know that they couldn’t have been too worried. I believe my auntie, but as for the rest of the family… saying they were just as anxious is a rather fanciful comment seeing as she was the only one that even text around the time of the shooting.”

“Good thing we had each other then,” she surprises him by saying. “Also, you’re aunt doesn’t seem to know of my problematic encounter with Fredrick, so I’d appreciate if we could keep it on the downlow.”

“Absolutely,” he reassures.

“And don’t think that I’ve ignored your avoidance of telling me her name,” she says, smirking already.

“Trust my family to have an Aunt Bessie.”

“It’s what I was counting on… _Ady_.”

“Don’t!” he warns, trying to hold back a smile. “If you don’t call me Adrian, then you don’t get to call me Ady.”

“Maybe I’ll start. Calling you Fletch is getting old now.” He narrows his eyes at her but his nostrils flare with contained laughter. “That’s a point… Will I have to call you Adrian in front of your family?”

“Call me whatever you like, sweet cheeks!”

Her face drops and he gives her a grin, _two can play this game._


	3. Chapter Two

They’re on their way to the church, Fletch having already called Jac at least four different terms of endearment just to wind her up. He’s glad they’ve managed to settle into their usual jovial spirit, it makes the ludicrous situation much more bearable. So far they’ve managed to dodge any run-ins with relatives, but as they drive past the church they can see that it’s certainly going to be impossible to avoid for much longer; there are hoards of people waiting outside. Fletch slowly drives down the nearby residential streets in the hopes of finding a space to park in, however this alone takes nearly as long as the journey itself. 

“Quick, otherwise we’re going to be late!” he says, hurriedly undoing his seatbelt and stepping out of the car once they’re parked.

“Calm yourself Mr. Fletcher, I can’t imagine we’re missing much.”

He eyes her over the roof of the car as they shrug on their jackets. 

 

As they walk through the gates into the church grounds, Fletch sighs with relief when he can hear the chatter of guests coming from inside. Jac’s heels click on the stone path to the entrance but when he pushes open the heavy door their sound is drowned out by the surprising volume of people talking in the pews.

“Don’t think she’d have even noticed if I hadn’t come,” Fletch tells her, moving so that his lips are closer to her ear. They both survey the area, overwhelmed and searching for somewhere to sit.

“That’s just great… We’ll have to stand,” she says. When she gets no response, she turns to face him and finds him oblivious to her words as he continues scanning the rows for a spare seat. She rolls her eyes and takes his hand—they  _ are  _ together, after all—and leads him to the corner behind the last pew, weaving in and out of various groups of people congregating at the back of the church. She daren’t look over her shoulder to see his reaction, instead focusing on getting to the empty spot without tripping on the uneven floor. One thing’s for certain, she won’t be forgetting the way his hand had immediately clasped onto hers—whether it was a simple reflex or welcoming her touch, she can’t be certain.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay standing for the whole ceremony?” he asks. Her mind’s frantic at his proximity, his torso is pressing against her side as he speaks to her through the noise and she can feel his warm puffs of breath against the tip of her ear. She takes a brief moment to compose herself and then offers him a taught smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure we could find you a seat-”

“Honestly, there’s no need. Don’t usually need the stool until the end of surgeries now.” She won’t specify how far from the end as she knows it won’t serve her argument.

“Well you just tell me, okay? I’m serious.”

“You only want an excuse to get out of here.”

“That too,” he jokes and she turns in time to see one of his charming smiles. She wonders whether he uses it on all the girls to make them feel this special.

 

Several minutes pass until music swallows the chatter and the procession of suits and dresses begins. Jac’s surprised when Kate finally enters the room as the wedding dress is remarkably tasteful, not at all the meringue on legs she’d been expecting. The ceremony gets underway but the two pretend-lovers are relying on sight alone to provide them with details. The shuffling of clothes, wails of a baby, murmurs of toddlers, and the chorus of sniffles that seem to primarily be coming from the front pews, not to mention the distance between them and the to-be-wed couple, mean that they can’t hear a thing. They’ve taken to leaning against the side wall, Jac stood in front with Fletch’s chest barely a centimetre from her back as they watch on. When it comes to the hymns, they both cluelessly mime along in the absence of a service book, neither of them being regular churchgoers to know any by heart. 

“Why couldn’t they have chosen  _ Morning Has Broken _ ?” he whispers, leaning down so his lips brush the shell of her ear. She momentarily closes her eyes against the instinctual shiver that tickles down her spine, then turns and offers him an amused look. 

“Daren’t tread on your very capable toes,” she murmurs in response, glancing up at him through her lashes as they recall his rendition of the song earlier this morning.

He smirks as their eyes lock but it quickly falls from his lips; her gaze so intense that, for an instant, he can’t focus on anything else. Their attention is unwillingly averted when the shuffling at the front of the church tells them the vows are about to be said. They both face forward again, trying to latch onto the words being spoken by the vicar but they can only hear the odd syllable. When the groom’s lips begin to move, Jac feels Fletch take a step closer so that his chin hovers just above her shoulder. 

“Wonder what he’s saying,” he mutters, his words practically spoken into her ear. 

“Probably some hollow promise he won’t keep.”

“You’re a little ray of sunshine, you know that?” She needn’t turn her head for him to see the eye roll at his comment. “Do you think they wrote the vows themselves, or chose the traditional ones?”

“How am I meant to know? This entire thing seems a bit O.T.T. so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve written essays for one another.”

“You have to admit that would be kind of sweet.”

“Sickening, maybe.”

“You’re a romantic at heart, I know it. Go on, what do you think they’re saying?” Her brows furrow as she tries to comprehend his childish antics. “I reckon he’s making promises about trust and eternal love.”

“Who even wants those sorts of lifelong entanglements?”

“You’re more about promises for coffee by eight and surgery by nine.”

“And you aren’t?” she questions, finally turning her head to face him. This movement causes her body to press further into his and neither of them miss the slight hitch in her breathing. A few seconds pass where they’re solely engulfed by the energy from one another; the warmth radiating from their bodies, the pressure between their torsos, the amplified rush of their breathing. “You’d want someone to promise comfort and friendship and love, but I know you and I know that you wouldn’t want the promise of eternity. Not if the feelings were to wane and disintegrate. You wouldn’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage because of honour.”

He sees the slight embarrassment fleetingly pass behind her eyes before she turns back to the ceremony. She knows him more than he’d realised.

 

The newlyweds seal their nuptials with a sweeping kiss, the bride safely enclasped in the arms of her groom. Applause erupts across the church and goes on far longer than the Holby duo are willing to clap, with Fletch’s hand instead coming to curl around Jac’s at their sides. He’s not sure what makes him do it, but as they stand there—hands connected and cheers still punctuating the air—he knows that he’s happier now than he has been in months. The crowds around them begin draining out through the church door and spilling onto the grass outside, preparing to welcome the wedded couple into their changed world with confetti and well-wishes. Jac and Fletch find themselves being tugged along with the other guests and their grips tighten as they follow them out, not wanting to get separated in the throng. When they’re back beneath the sun and stood patiently alongside everyone else, their hands still don’t part, they don’t even loosen. It’s only as the bride and groom emerge onto the church steps that Jac frees her hand from his, allowing them both to applaud again. The slight breeze rustles amongst the trees and causes the confetti to swirl and drift through the air.

 

The following moment will be stamped in his mind forever...

 

He looks across at Jac, who’s smiling and clapping without a care in the world. The pink buds on the trees against the rich blue hues of the sky perfectly frame her amongst the crowd. Sunlight teases out the various shades in her locks and spirals of confetti twirl around her; some sticking to her clothes and in strands of her hair. She unexpectedly catches him looking but he doesn’t turn away. Instead, he just smiles. Nobody seems to notice that none of this is about the newlyweds, it’s only about her. She’s the centre of his attention and he cannot comprehend how no one else can see her for what she is, why they aren’t all just as enthralled by her. She shoots him a questioning gaze but turns back to the couple walking down the church path that’s lined with friends and family. He’s glad she’d not waited for reassurance. He knows he’d have kissed her otherwise.

 

The moment’s over just seconds later, but it’s one that’ll be with him for life.

 

The photographer begins arranging people on the steps of the church and many guests take this as their cue to leave for the hotel. They slowly filter through the narrow wooden gate at the end of the churchyard and head to their cars, a select few choosing to walk the distance instead. Fletch is surprised to find Jac’s arm wriggling to link with his. He looks down at her but she’s too focused on the uneven path to see him this time, so he simply bends his arm, allowing hers to rest in the crook of his elbow. They make it onto the street when suddenly someone is grabbing at Fletch’s shoulder. He spins round with a frown at the violation of his personal space—something which is perfectly acceptable if the perpetrator is a certain flame-haired colleague—and eyes the groomed man in a navy suit before him, not appreciating the intrusion and the way it had caused Jac to retract her arm.

“Thought it was you!” the guy shouts, causing Fletch to recoil a little at the unnecessary volume. “Adrian Fletcher!” He grabs Fletch’s hand and shakes it in greeting, patting his shoulder in a rather laddish way Jac can’t help but note. She also knows that her D.O.N has absolutely no idea who this man is. “It’s Pete!” 

There’s a wave of enlightenment then and Fletch’s demeanour changes as they shake hands again—with vigour this time.

“Little Bobby Dazzler!” Fletch grins. “How have you been keeping?”

“Haven’t been called that in a long time! And yeah, I’m good, good. Got two kids, divorce papers and my own restaurant.”

“Sorry to hear that, mate. The divorce, I mean.”

“These things happen.”

“This is Jac, by the way,” Fletch says, reassuringly rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. “This is Pete. I went to school with him back in the day.” The two strangers exchange hesitant smiles in greeting.

“Was neighbours with Kate, hence my invitation. What’s the story with you two?” Pete asks.

Jac inhales deeply and then turns to face Fletch, an expectant look on her face. 

“Nearly a year together now,” Fletch begins. “We both work in the hospital.”

“Holby, right?”

“Yep. Live there with my kids.”

“I had heard something on the grapevine, how many you got?”

“Four,” Fletch chuckles.

“They’re not…” Pete points at Jac and looks between the pair. When the penny drops, it takes a lot for Fletch to hold back the laugh.

“No! No, they’re not mine,” Jac exclaims. “A  _ year _ , remember?”

“Right, yeah. Do you have kids?”

“Only the one,” she replies.

“Together or..?”

“No, we don’t have children together,” Fletch clarifies.

“Do you both do nursing then?”

Jac inwardly groans at the small talk.  _ It’s so pointless.  _

“No no, I’ve bagged myself a  _ surgeon _ ,” Fletch boasts. Something inside Jac flourishes at the pride in his smug grin.

“Not bad, bud! Who’d have thunk it; Adrian Fletcher with a surgeon. What do you specialise in?” he asks, turning to Jac.

“Cardiothoracics.”

“No way! My dad recently underwent a CABG.”

Another inward groan. The rare times a social gathering had presented itself, it had always resulted in Jac being posed medical questions and getting dragged across a room to diagnose indigestion which had dramatically been labelled as heart disease.

“They’re fairly straightforward procedures,” she impatiently reassures.

“He’s been having some trouble with the meds-”

“I suggest you take that up with your pharmacist.”

“Sorry, we get asked stuff like this all the time,” Fletch tries to excuse.

“Oh, of course you do! Look at me rattling on about things you guys do as work when you’re out trying to enjoy some time off.”

“Speaking of which, we’re going to get going. Time off is rare these days,” Fletch states.

“I get you,” Pete responds, raising his eyebrows. “You guys go have fun.”

Fletch considers clarifying his innocent intentions, but decides against it. “See you at the reception in a bit!”

With that, he takes Jac’s hand and they go off down the street and back to the car.

“You better watch out for him,” Fletch murmurs to her once Pete’s out of earshot. “He’ll be wooing you after a few drinks.”

Jac casts him a disgusted look. “Despite knowing that we’re together?”

“More so.”

“I thought that was against the Bro Code or whatever you call it.”

“Bit of a love-hate friendship with him. He and I enjoyed playing footy together but when it came to girls it was every man for himself.”

She turns to him and smirks. “Did he steal your bird, Adrian?” she mocks. 

“Yes! Was my darling Flo that he took from me, the cheeky bugger!”

She raises her eyebrows and nudges her shoulder against his as they walk. She’s very curious to know what young Adrian Fletcher was like. Originally, she’d assumed he was the class clown and had wondered how he’d ended up becoming something as qualified as a nurse. But as time went on she’d picked up on snippets of information and anecdotes he’d shared and had come to realise that this was at least his second career. She’s not sure what had changed his aspirations but for some unknown reason she finds herself wanting to find out. 

 

Their hands only part when they each step around to their sides of the car. The heat that had built up rolls over them both as they open the doors and clamber inside, neither of them showing any intention of shutting the doors quite yet; the dizzying rush of fresh air filtering through the car. 

“It’s going quite well so far, don’t you think?” he says after a moment. 

“Surprisingly. Who’d have thought we’d make such a convincing couple?” They think over that and don’t say anything. 

“We’re a power duo in our badass suits.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“I think we cut quite the figures.”

She offers him a smile, agreeing. “We should get going. I need alcohol if I’m to survive much more of this.”

He chuckles and they slam the doors in unison.

 

Upon arriving at the hotel, parking is much more difficult to maneuver than earlier. Everywhere you turn there seems to be small clusters of people in fancy getups, some of which are already nursing champagne flutes. They eventually park and step out into the ever-increasing heat of the early afternoon, the car’s air conditioning being a luxury in such warm weather. 

“Ready for round two?” Fletch asks with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Let’s go get pissed, Ady.”

They head in through the entrance they’d used earlier and find that the keycard-accessible doors have been propped open, allowing the guests easy access. There are flutes of champagne on a clothed table just inside the foyer and Jac swiftly collects two, handing one to Fletch and then picking up another. 

“I’m not taking any chances,” she says, gulping down half of the contents in the first glass and tipping the rest into the second. He nudges her shoulder and gestures over to the loveseat they’d been sat in earlier. She swallows another mouthful and nods, following him to the sofa and dramatically dropping onto the cushions beside him. He doesn’t mind it when she falls into the seat with her leg pressed against his, but it’s gone just moments later when she shuffles to get comfy and puts a safe inch between them. 

“What’s for dinner then?” she asks.

“You know what? I can’t remember. Duck was mentioned but I’m not sure what course that will be. Starter perhaps.”

“Do you know what time the evening party finishes?”

“Think they kick everyone out by one.”

“Did you want to stay to the end?”

They know the implications that will stem from his answer; the inevitability of sharing a room.

“Probably not. But that doesn’t mean to say you can’t. If you wanted. Or if you wanted to leave before I did. It’s not a problem,” he awkwardly tells her.

“We’ll see what happens.”

 

It’s not long until the bride and groom show up at the hotel and the reception begins. More photographs are taken, fancy snacks are eaten and obviously more alcohol is drunk. The day progresses and soon the Holby pair are scrutinising the table plan board outside the dining room, hunting for their places. It’s with great relief that they find themselves seated on a table with names Fletch claims to not recognise… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive all the inaccuracies here, I’m relying on the internet to fill me in on common wedding practices as the last one I went to was when I was seven. Also, sorry for the blandness of this chapter, I was struggling for content hence why it’s so short. This should be the only boring one until the end of the fic now, as sparks will be flying here on in! Please stick with me!


	4. Chapter Three

The Wedding Breakfast and speeches are well underway, having started nearly two hours ago. Upon being seated, Jac had poured herself and Fletch a generous glass of wine—selecting one from the array of bottles on their table—but they’d practically finished that by the time their mains had been served. It’s as the waiters bring Prosecco around for the speeches that Jac reminds herself to remain vaguely aware; she can’t afford to get drunk as she knows it’ll only complicate things. She doesn’t trust her ability to be responsible when intoxicated and sharing a room with a guy she’s come to favour… well, it’s vital that she can comply with boundaries. So she accepts a polite amount but reserves it for the customary toast at the end of the speeches.

Fletch has the Prosecco out of politeness, which Jac picks up on when she notices that his lips are sealed shut around the rim of the glass, refusing to drink any. When he catches her looking at him with a puzzled expression, he turns his lips down in disgust and shakes his head at the champagne flute in his hand. She rolls her eyes, unsurprised that his childish palette can’t cope with the delicate flavours of the fizzy wine.

 

They’d so far only made small talk with the other guests on their table, which seems to be one dedicated to the outcasts and random folk as none of them are familiar with anyone besides the bride or groom. Each couple had kept to themselves for the most part. 

 

The father of the groom’s speech drags on and by the time it reaches the five minute mark Jac’s bored. She studies other guests as they seemingly listen intently to the monotone drivel and her eyes land on a couple at a different table. She’s unsure whether they’re together, as their body language suggests they aren’t particularly close, but it’s the subtle smirks tilting up the corners of their lips that has Jac intrigued. She watches as they both face the head table, nodding and laughing at appropriate times to the words being said. But then there’s a sidewards glance that flits between them and they both bite back the secret giggles. Jac missed something and she’s not sure what. This goes on for another minute before she realises what’s going on…

Their hands appear to be sitting in their laps, but if she squints Jac can see the way that they each have a hand resting on the other’s leg. The tablecloth had been covering it until now, but they seem to be playing a game of sorts, perhaps more of a challenge. They’re taking it in turns to move their hand further up the other’s leg, the element of risk at being caught enough to drive their motives. Jac wonders what happens when they run out of thigh and that is what encourages her to watch on. It’s just as their hands are reaching the apex of their legs that the speech finishes and they both begin clapping.  _ Damn _ , Jac thinks. She only wants to know what would have happened. Is there an even riskier game that could be played?.. She inwardly laughs at her own thoughts and physically shakes her head to return her mind to the events in the room. Then her gaze lands on Fletch and she’s immediately wandering down a very inappropriate path… She smirks at her own wicked pondering, wouldn’t hurt to see how far she could push him, would it? Her ever dwindling sobriety is shouting for her to stop, but the wine and champagne hitting her system are overruling all rationality.

 

She swivels her legs so that they’re leaning towards Fletch, a subtle movement that no one notices, but then she’s tucking one ankle behind the other so that the toe of her shoe is softly touching the bottom of his calf. He doesn’t react at first, but with a little repositioning she manages to press the top of her foot against him and it elicits a faint murmur at the back of his throat which he masks as a cough. She keeps it there throughout Bessie’s short speech and they both feign indifference. However, he clearly isn’t expecting her next bold move… With the pointed toe of her heel, she slips beneath the hem of his trouser leg so that the clear skin on the top of her foot brushes against his ankle. He brings a hand to rub at his stubbled jaw to release the energy that she stirs in him and she quickly moves herself away, breaking the daring contact. She’d laugh at his internal debate if she could mindread, as he sits there puzzling over whether her actions are intentional or not. It’s his own feelings that are clouding his judgement.

 

The final speech is over then, so they’re all told to gather their belongings and move into the foyer as they await the room turnaround. Fletch gets up first and waits for Jac to step out from her seat before he tucks their chairs under. Neither of them mention the mind games she’d just played with him. They all walk back to the foyer where there’s a coffee station and various poseur tables to stand around, the open French doors allowing the warm evening breeze in and the guests to spill out into the gardens.

“Fancy coming outside?” Fletch asks.

“I’m going to get a coffee first. Want one?”

He shakes his head and they both go in their own directions, grateful to have just a couple of minutes without the other despite enjoying the company. They have a lot to process.

 

When Jac steps onto the patio she takes a moment to appreciate the view; being so busy with work means she rarely has chance to bask in the glow of a sunset. The sun is low, only just peeping through a valley in the distance and casting hues of crimson and lilac across the sky. She can hear the snaps of cameras beside her amongst the chatter and clinks of chinaware. It’s only when she glances around for Fletch that she spies him on the stone steps leading down to the expanse of grass and flowerbeds, his phone held up as he also takes a photo... Except he’s facing the opposite direction to everyone else; he’s facing her. He must see her looking at him through the display on his screen as he looks past his phone and directly into her eyes with a smile. 

“You better not be taking photos of me,” she chides.

“I was taking a picture of the hotel, actually,” he replies, purposefully exaggerating his tone so that they both know he’s lying. She narrows her eyes and watches him, suspicious despite her curiosity.

“Well don’t show it to anyone.”

“Scout’s honour,” he grins, holding up the symbolic three fingers. 

She comes to stand beside him—still balancing the cup on its saucer—and he spins so that they’re both looking out over the view, the sun bathing their faces in its remaining warmth and making their skin glow.

“It’s a nice place here,” Fletch mutters after a few quiet moments between them. “Certainly puts things in perspective.”

She stares at him, wondering what he’s thinking and trying to suppress the niggling hope in her gut. “What do you mean?” 

“Taking a step away from things, seeing the bigger picture; seeing things for what they are.”

“You’re speaking in riddles.”

He turns to her and offers a pensive smile. “I’m talking waffle, I know.”

“For once, I think it’s anything but.” Her response surprises him. He’d have thought this strange, conceptual matter he’d been poorly explaining would have been the last thing she’d have patiently put effort into trying to comprehend. “What? I’m allowed to be interested in hippy-dippy shit, too,” she defends, coming to sit on a step and setting her coffee down on the wall.

He huffs out a light chuckle as he squats to perch beside her; she appreciates his physique on his way down, no matter how fleeting the action. 

“Seeing other people’s happiness makes you question your own.”

He nods, appreciating her articulacy. “What revelations have you had, then?”

Turning her lips down with uncertainty, she hums. “Not many,” she states, refusing to divulge anything more than that. “What about you?”

“Just a couple.”

He leans back so that his arms are resting on the step up from the one they’re sitting on, secretly gifting him the view of Jac against the beautiful backdrop. The light from the sky reflects off her hair, setting it ablaze with deep auburns and golds as her skin glows a rich caramel colour; her features softened and warm. He knows he couldn’t get away with physically capturing this moment as he had done on his phone earlier, so he takes a mental shot and softly smiles at how innocent she is of her own beauty.

 

She’s unnerved by his silence so turns to see what’s captured his attention. 

She finds him looking at her. 

She holds his gaze, waiting for him to crack or explain his intentions, but she gets neither. Instead, they sit silently on the steps, bathed in the shades of twilight, eyes steadily trained on one another. Nerves twist through her stomach and she sighs, causing her torso to shift dangerously closer…

“If you’d all like to join us, the room is ready,” Kate beckons to the guests.

The shrill tones of her voice startles them and has Jac and Fletch anxiously averting their gazes. Jac sniffs and cards a hand through her hair to hide any reaction and reaches for her teacup as she stands. Fletch gets to his feet but busies himself with ironing out his trousers using the palms of his hands before following the redhead indoors.

 

They both know what would have happened had they sat there any longer… 

 

The room is teeming with guests getting settled when the Holby pair arrive. There are people socialising in groups, pockets of daring folk lingering around the dancefloor and some sitting at tables. The room itself is quite impressive; what had just been a space for a formal dinner is now a space for informal partying. The dancefloor is obviously the main feature—with its light up panels and music desk—and the tables and chairs they’d used at dinner had been cleared and stationed around the edge of the room. A lot of the guests are also paying close attention to the queue at the bar that curves out from the wall.

 

Fletch reaches out to touch Jac’s shoulder in order to get her attention in the noisy and dimly lit atmosphere. She spins to face him, the contact being unexpected. When he nods towards a table in a back corner, she leads him along the outskirts of the room and they turn two chairs around so they’re facing out into the room. From here, they can see across to the antics happening on the dancefloor meaning they’re sure to have some evening entertainment. 

“Drink?” Jac asks, already swivelling on her chair to get up.

“Pint?” he replies, the questioning tone in his voice checking she can hear him.

“Anything specific?”

“Surprise me,” he smiles. 

She kicks herself as she walks away for thinking about a multitude of inappropriate ways she could give him the fright of his life.

 

She stands in the queue for about five minutes until eventually getting served. It’s only when she slips her purse back into her bag and carefully picks up the two glasses that she gets dragged into a conversation with someone. 

“I could recognise that hair anywhere,” a deep, slightly slurred voice says behind her. She turns to find Pete leering at her, his well-groomed look long gone. 

“You barely know me,” she replies. 

“It only takes one glance for someone like you to get stuck in my mind.”

She frowns and tries to walk past but he simply takes a step back to obstruct her.

“Move,” she instructs, refusing to waste manners on a drunken fool like him. When he shows no sign of leaving she rolls her eyes at his pathetic games. “You don’t stand a chance. Now let me past.”

Across the room, Fletch’s eyes land on the situation involving his flame-haired colleague. He’d known it would have only been a matter of time until Pete made his move, and here it is. He internally argues whether or not to go and intervene; Jac can fend for herself, she’d be fuming if he marched over there and made out she was incapable. He watches their interaction, relying on body language alone as the music rings out from overhead speakers and drowns out any chance of hearing their conversation.

 

Jac sighs and stares at the man before her, waiting for him to move.

“You’ve never received the Pete treatment,” he tells her.

“I’m fairly certain that works in my favour.”

“If Adrian can win you over, then I definitely stand a chance.”

She snorts in amusement. “You wouldn’t know what had hit you.” She tries again to walk past but he reaches a hand for her shoulder. “You better watch it,” she snarls, snatching her shoulder from his grip.

“You’re a feisty one!” 

“Alright, sweetness?” Fletch’s voice greets as he seems to appear from nowhere, emerging from a crowd. Before she can comprehend what’s going on he’s leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek. Jac nods, unable to respond due to her tingling skin. She holds out his glass, which takes him a moment to notice as he sends daggers at the receding figure of Pete, who’d decided not to compete against Jac’s doting boyfriend.

“Piece of shit. Can’t believe you were friends with him,” Jac comments.

“Friends is a generous term for it.”

 

The pair sit in silence at their empty table; nursing their drinks and watching the chaos of tipsy relatives unfurl. It’s not long before the cheery bride comes tottering towards them.

“Adrian,” she grins, a similar melody in her words as Bessie’s earlier that day.

“Hiya. Congratulations,” Fletch greets, getting up to give her a hug.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had chance to see you both yet. Thank you so much for coming,” she says, turning to include Jac in the conversation as well. The redhead simply smiles. “How have you been?”

“Alright. Working a lot,” Fletch responds.

“Are you still a nurse?”

“Yeah. Got the big promotion to Director of Nursing last year. Not as fun as it sounds!”

Kate chuckles. “That’s a great achievement! Well done you!” She squeezes Fletch’s hands. “What about you? Jac, isn’t it?”

Jac clears her throat. “Yeah. I’m… good, thank you.” She’s not been asked that by many other than Fletch in recent years.

“Adrian tells me you’re a surgeon? Honestly, that’s unbelievably impressive. I don’t know how you do it!”

Jac finds herself smiling along with the other two. “I’m not too sure either sometimes,” she jokes.

“Look, there’s a family dinner tomorrow lunchtime before we all part ways. I’d love it if you could both come so we can have a real catch up, one that doesn’t involve yelling over music. It’ll just be Gary and I, Mum, Gary’s parents and our siblings. I know Mum would love to speak with you, Ady,” Kate begs. 

Fletch looks to Jac for her opinion on it and finds her already watching him. She shrugs and gives a soft smile, telepathically telling him that it’s his choice; they’ve already suffered through today, what difference is a few more hours going to make?

“Yeah, that sounds lovely. Where is it?”

“It’ll be here at half twelve. We’ve also managed to persuade them to push the check out time to three, so you can sleep in a bit longer in the morning and pick your stuff up after lunch!”

“That’s great. Thank you!” Fletch says, having to raise his voice to be heard over the bass.

“It’s been so wonderful to see you again, and meet you Jac. We’ll see you tomorrow!” With that, she’s gone in a flurry of white silk.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Fletch checks, shuffling his chair a little closer to her to avoid unnecessary shouting.

“I’ve already said, I’m here for the food,” she jokes, punctuating it with a dazzling beam. He laughs and shakes his head incredulously.

“So long as you’re sure.” She nods calmly, her eyelashes brushing her cheekbones as she agrees. “And are you sure I can’t persuade you to get out on the dancefloor?”

“Absolutely certain. You won’t be doing that.”

“I think I know how to tempt you…” 

There’s a nanosecond of excitement as she considers the possibility of him leaning over to kiss her, but he’s up out of his seat and heading towards the throng of people on the dancefloor. She sighs and reluctantly traces his steps to see what mayhem he’s going to cause. 

She loses track of him when he disappears into the crowd, so she lingers about a metre from the lit floor panels to avoid getting tangled up in the questionable dance moves. A minute drags by and she considers going back to their secluded table when he suddenly emerges from the lively group. As he makes his way to her, there’s a pause in the music as one song ends and another begins. The first few notes ring out through the speakers and her eyes widen with panic at the sight of him bopping towards her; déjà vu. When the drums begin and the music speeds up, the guests seem to come alive again after their quick breather and the melodic tones of Jimmy Winston and His Reflections charge the atmosphere.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, repeatedly shaking her head as he dances along to  _ Sorry She’s Mine _ .

“You know you wanna!”

The last time she’d heard this song it had been just as difficult to refuse.

 

He reaches her and she bites back the smile as he takes her hands in his and pulls her towards the dancefloor. He softly tugs on her arms, puppeteering her in a disjointed dance until she eventually puts movement into her own limbs. It’s hardly performance worthy, but it’s certainly a lot more action than he thought he’d ever see from her on a dancefloor. They continue the simple move until Fletch is comfortable that she’s not going to abandon him, then he releases one of her hands and motions for her to turn beneath his arm. It’s only when she glances at those around her as she spins that she realises nobody cares about what they’re doing or how they’re dancing, they’re merry and just out for a good time. It reassures her and for once she’s able to drop the detached Ice Queen act. As she joins with Fletch again after her little twirl, they both willingly step closer and happily enclasp one another in the typical partner stance; one hand placed on the shoulder or back, the other brought in with their fingers intertwined. They bop their bodies side to side in time with the rapid beat, laughing at how long it takes for them to find the right tempo.

“Don’t think I’ve ignored you breaking one of the ground rules,” she says, quirking an eyebrow. He removes his hand from her back and she spins beneath his arm again.

“But you’re enjoying yourself, don’t tell me otherwise.”

She playfully scowls at him and he smirks at her cute attempt of being threatening.

 

The song ends just minutes later and everyone claps as they notice that only a few people didn’t join in. The dancefloor is covered, with guests taking to dancing between chairs and tables as the area had become more crowded. Jac and Fletch childishly clap in one another’s faces, doing a little curtsy as people filter back to the bar or their seats. The two of them follow suit, Fletch knowing that it took a lot for Jac to dance to just the one song so there’s no way she’d be sticking around for more. Once they make it to their table, they sit down and take large swigs of their drinks as the next tune comes on and it all starts up again on the dancefloor. Jac and Fletch watch, their breathing still rapid after their exertions and their eyes adjusting to the darkness now that the disco lights are no longer on them.

“It’s been fun,” Fletch says, turning to face his companion in the seat beside him. “Thank you.”

She gently smiles. “It’s not been too terrible.”

“Oh, well that’s a plus!” 

“I will hunt you down if you  _ ever  _ tell anyone that we danced.”

“Understood.”

“And we probably shouldn’t make a habit out of attending weddings together,” she chuckles.

“I agree, it’s dangerous territory.”

She finds his answer a little peculiar. “What do you mean?”

“Well… Lying on a scale as big as this is tricky to keep track of. The mind games. We could be found out,” he replies, clearly not expecting to have to elaborate. 

She studies him and the way a vein in his temple throbs as he thinks up an explanation.

“We could. But what harm would it do? Whether you and I are together or not is of no concern to anybody else.”

“Still… it would be an awkward one to explain.”

“And as for the mind games… I’m not entirely sure I know what you mean.” She risks saying it. She knows exactly what he means but wants to see his response.

“It’s just confusing. Our minds know the truth of our relationship but our actions are trying to convince everyone else otherwise. There’s going to be some blurring of the lines.”

“Maybe,” she replies. She thinks she’s interpreted his words in a different way to how he intended. He reaches for his drink that’s on the table behind him and she quietly twiddles her thumbs in her lap. “If it’s bothering you this much then we can leave?” she suggests.

He swallows his beer and sets the glass down before turning back to her. “It doesn’t bother me. I was just saying that we’re playing a dangerous game. Just like you at dinner.”

This does surprise her. Her eyes widen and she finally meets his gaze, a blush already working its way up her throat and blossoming on her cheeks. Thankfully, it’s too dark for him to see it.

She sputters as she tries to find an excuse or an elaborate way of explaining her inappropriate shenanigans.

“I… I mean, well… I thought it was the table leg.” 

“Whatever you say. I must confess, I was a little surprised at first but-”

“Please shut up.”

“Why? I thought I was just a table leg?”

“Yes, well, maybe it was a little more intentional than that. I’m not sure what I was hoping to achieve...”

She can’t listen to her words anymore. It’s excruciatingly embarrassing. The way his lips don’t stop smirking even when he’s talking and the endorphins crashing through her system after their dance… They all have her smiling sheepishly as their eyes lock, both of them desperately searching for a glance at what they’re thinking. It’s the same intense gaze they’d shared earlier but this time there’s no doubt in their minds of what intentions they have.

 

He shuffles in his seat and her legs uncross to help stabilise her as the weight of the moment hits them. There’s less than a foot between their chairs, which works in their favour as they lean towards one another; hearts thrumming, nerves tickling, breathing shallow. 

His hand comes to cup her cheek as he pulls her nearer, dipping his own head to join their lips. Their eyes close, allowing them to focus on touch and sound without distraction. The music overhead is slower than it was, but Jac wonders whether that’s just because she’s not been paying attention. She hesitantly moves her hand from where it’s keeping her steady on the chair and slides it around his neck to rest against the top of his spine. The action forces them nearer and deepens the kiss beyond the boundaries of anything chaste. The rush of adrenaline she can feel in her gut spikes when she pushes her tongue past her lips and glides it along his. It takes him a moment to acknowledge, but then he’s overcome with a wave of such intense feeling that he’s turning in his chair in order to hold her close. He breaks the kiss—them both taking a deep breath when their lips part—and he pulls her into a hug before she has chance to withdraw. He can tell the move has puzzled her because it takes a while for her hands to settle on his back..

“Everything okay?” she gingerly asks, her words muffled by his shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry.” He leans back and runs his hands down her arms. When his eyes land on hers, she offers a hesitant smile. “Do you know how long I’ve been wishing for that?” he chuckles, wanting to ease the concern on her face.

Realising she hadn’t just pushed things beyond their limits, she sighs and closes her eyes in relief. She briefly opens them when she feels his lips against hers just seconds later and can’t stop the smile that presses against his mouth. His tongue slides along hers before she can get her bearings, so she reaches her hands out to find his face and nudges him closer; feeling his jaw work beneath her fingers. She hums in the back of her throat and it encourages Fletch to card his hands through her hair and bring them to knead the tense muscles at the base of her skull.

“Better stop now,” she pants, her lips still brushing against his as she speaks.

“Why?” He punctuates it with a peck to her mouth.

“We don’t want to start something we can’t finish.”

“Who’s to say we can’t?”

She pulls back a little further so that she can see him. “I figured you’d be more of a slow and steady type.”

“Well, I may just surprise you yet.” He seals his lips to hers, a bruising kiss that can only translate a handful of the things he’s feeling in this moment. It’s over before she has chance to react, still struggling to process what’s happening. This had been building up for so long, now that it’s here it seems near impossible. “Shall we go back to the room? I’m not saying we have to… do stuff-”

She smiles at his endearing awkwardness and holds up a hand to silence him. “Yes, so long as you’re done here.”

“I’ve spoken to those I needed to speak to.”

Fletch doesn’t even think twice about taking her hand in his. Once she’s picked up her bag, they walk out the room and don’t look back.


	5. Bonus Chapter (Explicit)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a bonus chapter and I'm upping the rating to EXPLICIT, so please don't read on if you're not into that sort of stuff. It doesn't add to the storyline, therefore you won't be missing anything. It's just smut. Because I was writing this (and have other commitments), Friday's installment may be a tad late but it will go back to it's usual rating of 'Teen and Up'.

They stroll along the corridor, Jac surprisingly grateful that there’s no urgency in their step as the weight of their secret attraction is dizzyingly lifted. She thinks Fletch is feeling similarly dazed by the way that his thumb continuously strokes circles on the back of her hand, only stopping when he retrieves the keycard from his pocket and opens their door for them. He sighs once it clicks shut.

“Now we can drop the act,” he says with relief whilst kicking off his shoes. Jac’s eyes go round with poorly masked heartbreak and she turns to face him. He takes one look at her and immediately reaches out a hand as though to take back his words, kicking himself for making her think their kiss had simply been for show. “No, no! I don’t mean- I just mean we can say and do whatever we like without the pressure of convincing people that we’ve been doing this for months. We can do things at our own pace.”

The betrayal that had been creeping up in her disappears as she understands his explanation; they don’t need to make it look like they’ve done this with one another before, they can bask in the joy of first times. She’s not sure why she feels so anxious, she’s had men like him for breakfast in the past, why is this any different?

“We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to but I  _ would _ really like to kiss you again,” he says softly, approaching her. She’s surprised to find him waiting for permission, so she weaves an arm around his neck and brings him to her with more force than either of them had yet shown. The plumpness of their lips cushions the blow but then it’s dancing tongues and gentle murmurs as they grip onto one another. She sucks on his bottom lip and releases it with a pop, this forgotten sensation eliciting a whimper as he finds himself wanting more—more of what, he doesn’t care, so long as it’s  _ her _ .

“You’re bloody addictive,” he whispers through their rapid breathing. 

“Addictions aren’t healthy,” she warns, her sultry tone doing anything but deter him. He swoops them into another kiss that knocks her off balance and he clings onto her to keep her upright and their lips from parting. She kicks the heels from her feet and he smiles when he has to stoop a little further to make up for the height she’s lost.

 

He wraps a supportive arm around her waist as they haphazardly teeter towards the wall and he protects the back of her head when their bodies fall against it. Her back colliding with the stone causes the wind to be pushed from her lungs so he reluctantly releases her lips and rests his forehead against hers, twisting locks of golden hair between his fingers whilst they catch their breath. It’s silent save their laboured breathing and the subdued glow from the night filters in through the window; offering enough light to see fuzzy outlines and silhouettes. Their fingers gently intertwine at their sides and she looks up at him through the strands of hair being twirled in his other hand, which he softly tucks behind her ear seconds later.

“This is crazy,” she whispers, not wanting to disturb the tranquility.

“Good crazy?”

She absentmindedly picks at a loose thread on his breast pocket. “I think so?”

“I’ll take that.”

There’s a pregnant pause before she speaks again. “Do you, uh…”

“Whatever you want,” he responds. At this point, he’d willingly walk into flames if she told him to. 

“Well, that would be you,” she says before she can consider her words. It makes his heart vibrate to hear such affection from her, although he’s sure he can feel the heat of her blush radiating onto his skin.

He’s unsure whether she sees his touched smile but decides the best way to show his gratitude and care would obviously be to show it in action. So with a more tender approach he slips his hands along her jaw and cups her face, bringing their mouths into a slow caress. The smooth slopes of their lips barely brush at first but gradually their tongues begin to seek one another as his body becomes flush with hers. She finds him to be a reassuring pressure against her; the times of finding comfort in the warm weight of a partner just distant memories and forgotten touches.

 

Their kisses are calm, heartfelt. It’s these kisses that unpredictably have her feeling the most. She’s always approached passion with an urgency and it’s not failed in getting the job done, as far as she’s concerned. So it is a little surprising when she feels her underwear dampen at such an unhurried display of desire and it spurs her hands to slide over his shoulders and pull him closer, relishing the contact. She slips beneath the collar of his blazer and pushes it off his arms, leaving it to crumple on the floor behind him. Her fingers squeeze into the gap between their torsos as she tries to undo the pesky buttons of his waistcoat, but even her surgeon nimbleness can’t get them unfastened. She instead flattens her palms against his chest and nudges him back to create more space; however, this still doesn’t reward her efforts. She tears her mouth from his and ducks down to squint at the offending clasps.

“I can’t see,” she murmurs, stepping out from her spot between him and the wall. She hooks her pinky around his and tugs him to stand in front of the window, then tries again; the subtle light from the moon illuminating them enough to make out the buttons on his suit vest. He considers offering help, but knows Jac and knows she’d not admit defeat on something as basic as undoing buttons. Seconds later, his vest is dropping to the floor; mapping their journey across the room.

She takes a step back and sighs with her hands on her hips, eyeing his shirt. “You need to stop wearing so many buttons,” she comments, a mix of humour and genuine vexation in her voice. He smiles and takes pity on her, bringing his own hands up to start undoing them. She doesn’t appreciate how easy he’s finding it after her battle with his waistcoat, so she pads towards him and takes his head in her hands, kissing his lips for just a moment before dragging her mouth across the stubble of his jaw. The bristles burn the sensitive skin of her lips but the warm breath she trails in her path helps soothe them as she latches onto the smooth hollow beneath his ear, feeling him fumble. He knows her game, knows that she’s purposefully setting out to make this difficult for him, but god who would he be if he were to stop her now? Her teeth scrape over his pulsepoint and he hisses at the welcome sting as she swipes her tongue over the undoubtable love bite she’s leaving. She pats his arm to remind him of his task which he’d abandoned and he eventually pulls his attention from her long enough to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.

 

By the time he’s finished, she’s tending to the blossoming mark she’d inflicted in the crook of his neck by sucking on it softly to ease any pain. She feels his hands still and pulls back to find the shirt undone and creased from being tucked in his waistband.

“About time,” she whispers, her smirk telling him that she knows exactly why it took so long.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining.”

He plants his hands on her hips and pulls her to him, quickly removing her blazer as she slips his shirt from his shoulders. She can feel the hardness in his trousers pressing against her and it sends nervous excitement shooting through her stomach, however this quickly turns to something a little more bitter when his fingers brush the hem of her t-shirt. Kissing him to avoid any inquisition, she places her hands over his and guides him to the buckle of her belt instead. He hesitates but undoes it as his mind slowly processes her diversion. Their tongues twist together and he shrugs off his shirt from where it had fallen to his elbows. When she hears the crumpling of the material on the floor, Jac’s hands run along the newly exposed flesh as he ducks to trail wet kisses along her neck. She tilts her head to give him better access and her breath hitches with an involuntary moan when his lips brush the column of her throat and down to her clavicle. He dips his tongue into the shadowed hollow of her collarbone and pinches the skin with his teeth before lapping over the mark, enjoying the sweet scent of her perfume mixing with the subtle taste of her skin. Now that he’s got a hint, he wants more, so he wriggles his fingers beneath the hem of her t-shirt again and ruffles it up to her navel before she secures her hands around his wrists and prevents him from going any further. He takes his mouth from her and moves his head back to look her in the eye. 

“We can stop,” he reassures quietly.

“No.”

Her answer confuses him a little until he remembers this morning’s incident and suddenly it all makes sense.

“You’re beautiful.” She softly smiles. “Do what you’re comfortable with.”

They both know that he’s aware her scar is the issue here. 

“Just leave it on for a bit?” she asks him, referring to her top then loosening her grip on his wrists. He nods and sets the material back over her tummy. He watches as she reaches behind her and then starts beaming as she pulls a rather strategic move; she somehow manages to remove her bra through a sleeve of her t-shirt and he can’t quite wrap his head around the logistics of it. She dramatically flings the underwear from her finger and it drops onto one of the armchairs. He takes this moment to appreciate her appearance; this being the first chance he’s had since they’d started kissing. 

 

Her features are lined with the light from the moon as they stand directly in front of the window, with only miles of desolate valleys to accompany them. He can just make out the extra plumpness of her kiss-swollen lips and slight disarray of her hair and he can’t help but smile at the sparkle in her eyes. The movement of her hands on his wrists brings him out of his appreciative trance and he finds her looking at him questioningly. She interprets his stillness as uncertainty, so encouragingly brings his hands to her breasts; needing him to know that she still craves his touch despite seeking comfort beneath her top.

 

He looks into her eyes, searching for reassurance that this is what she wants. There’s a subtle nod that tells him to go on, so he moves his hands along the sides of her breasts in order to cup them and place his thumbs over her nipples. He feels them harden at the contact and softly brushes across them, their rosy colour faintly showing through the tight white material. Glancing behind him to get his bearings, he holds her hips and moves them back until his legs knock against one of the armchairs. He perches on the edge and pulls her to stand between his knees. When she comes to stop before him, he guides his mouth to one of her covered breasts and it encourages her to step closer and run a hand through the trimmed hair at the back of his head. She feels his hot breath on her skin through the t-shirt and it causes pleasure to flourish in her lungs and charge to her core. The sudden heaving of her chest tells him that he’s doing just fine despite the barrier between his mouth and her flesh. He continues swirling his tongue over her, the material becoming damp and sticking to her skin. When he moves to the other breast, he brings his thumb back up to circle the wet cotton and tweak her abandoned nipple; feeling her nails scrape across his scalp in response and he glances up to find her with her head tilted back and her eyes shut. 

 

He leans back a couple of minutes later, silently smug at the sight before him; Jac’s lips are parted—her breathing deep—and both breasts are tipped with a wet, slightly more see-through patch. He tugs on her belt to get her attention and she undoes the clasp of her trousers, inviting him to remove them. Once they fall to the floor, she wiggles her feet from them and kicks them aside. His face is so close to her abdomen that he catches her scent as she moves; the subtle smell of her arousal making his mouth water. He stands and slips an arm low around her waist, allowing him to grasp the flesh of her bottom as she brings a hand to the hot skin of his chest and runs a thumb over his own nipple before leaning in to kiss him. His squeeze on her arse nudges their pelvises together and they moan at the contact they’d longed for; Jac rolling her hips against him for the friction to satisfy the throbbing between her legs as he groans at the heat of her. Wasting no time, she reaches for his belt to unbuckle it and meets his fingers in their urgency to release the button and zip of his trousers. Once she’s pushed the waistband over his hips, he drops them to the floor and steps out of them, kicking them aside as she’d done with hers. He finds himself being pushed back into the armchair by her hand on his chest and she manages to fit her knees into the tight space either side of his hips as she sits on his lap; the arms of the chair being a rather unhelpful restriction. There are just inches between their clothed sexes with the way she’s straddling him and it makes him long for her even more. She shifts to press her clit against one of his legs and he can feel the dampness from her centre seeping through her underwear and onto his skin. Now that she’s got the pressure to temporarily relieve the throbbing of her core, she needs more. He senses another light movement from her and can see the willpower to resist on her face.

“Go on…” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and softly massaging the lobe. She looks at him with an expression he can only label as guilt, so he smiles encouragingly. He moves his leg to give her a bit more room and then rests his hands on her waist, exerting a force that supports her pending movements. She undulates her hips and closes her eyes at the relief it brings. His hands nudge her into another roll, then another, and then he’s all but pushing down in her rhythm to help create the friction she so craves. She grips onto his shoulders and he can tell she’s getting close when her nails create half-moons in his skin, so he takes one of his hands from her hips and aligns it with her centre. When she grinds back down, he slightly curves two of his fingers so that the pads press up against her clit and a grateful whimper tumbles from her lips. She repeats the action and mutters incoherently under her breath when she meets his fingers again. Except this time she stops and comes to kiss him.

“This is degrading,” she murmurs sheepishly. 

“I don’t think it is.”

“You’re not the one practically coming from a dry hump.”

“ _ Practically _ just won’t do,” he states. He couldn’t have cared less how she’d chosen to find her pleasure but he can tell it bothers her, so he brings a knuckle to brush against her through her underwear. When she doesn’t protest, he presses the pad of his thumb over her clit and rubs small circles. “You do what you have to do.”

He barely gets the words out before she’s thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Her hips roll as he strokes a finger along her covered folds and continues building the pressure of his thumb. His other hand tucks into her underarm as he guides her up to kneel, her refusal to part their lips resulting in him craning his neck to reach her as she hovers above. He finally manages to break the kiss and she wonders what his plan is.

“Hold on,” he suggests, bringing her hands to the back of the chair; based off her recent pleasure chase, he figures she’d prefer to grip onto something for support.

 

He repositions his thumb so that it’s at a more comfortable angle, then continues to rub over the little bud. Taking one of her nipples into his mouth again, she lets out an impressed sigh as she enjoys his rather stimulating plan. She starts rocking into his touch as the heady tension builds in her core and her grip on the back of the chair turns her knuckles white. When he hears a restrained and desperate cry, he increases the speed of his ministrations and she begins to shake in her movements, the rhythm they’d fallen into becoming a little more erratic as she nears her climax. 

“Fletch,” she begs, needing the release she’d been on the edge of just minutes ago as she’d ground against his leg.

He flexes two fingers to stroke her fleshy lips as his thumb rapidly rubs at her clit and he takes the hand that had been supporting her torso to tweak the abandoned nipple; rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, amazed that he can multitask so successfully. She swears repeatedly until she suddenly arches; her movement causing him to get a faceful of boob, but he’s not about to complain. 

It’s silent as the overwhelming wave of release crashes over her. He can no longer hear her shallow breathing or words of encouragement as they seem to get trapped in her shuddering body. He maintains his speed and pressure until the initial power of her climax gives out to ripples of pleasure and she seems to regain use of her voice.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” she pants.

He does return his hand to supporting her torso when she sways but continues his other attentions in a softer manner. There are whispered words as she comes down from her high and once she eventually goes quiet, he takes his hand from beneath her wet centre and wraps it around her upper arm. When she feels him reach out for her, she lets him guide her down to his lap again and falls against his chest with her head resting on his shoulder; she’d not orgasmed like that in a long time and if she weren’t so foggy with desire, she’d laugh at how relaxed it’s left her. He kisses her temple and wraps his arms tightly around her back, stroking a hand up and down her spine as she gathers herself.

 

The chill of the air begins to nibble at his toes as he sits with her held against him, looking out of the window at the view. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so peaceful. He also can’t deny that there’s a certain level of discomfort in his boxers that he could do with repositioning, but he doesn’t care. When she stirs, he loosens his hold on her and lets her sit up.

“Credit where credit’s due,” she grins and bites her lip.

“Now that is quite the compliment!”

“Don’t take it to your head.”

He pouts comically. “Not even a little bit?” 

“Fine, but  _ only  _ until we leave,” she jokes and they kiss happily, a clash of teeth as they both chuckle against one another. He helps her shuffle off his lap and then she pulls on his arms to heave him out of the chair; their lips meeting again once they’re both standing. This is certainly a power duel as their tongues vie for dominance. He knows she’ll win. 

 

Her hands try to put him off by scratching up his back and then trailing lightly down his front. Each time she circles round to his chest she inches her hands lower and lower until they eventually reach the waistband of his boxers and she can tell this will be his downfall...

His attention to their tongues wavers as she drags her nails over the expanse of his back again, already knowing where her hands will end up and anticipating the sensation. She slows her feathering fingers as they run over the subtle definition in his torso and she feels a puff of breath against her cheek as she trails down his tummy. She decides to catch him off-guard and instead follows his waistband around to his lower back, where she pinches his bottom and appears impressed. She'd definitely be lying if she said she'd not considered doing that before. When her fingers slide back around to his front, she tickles them across his thighs and then cups him through his underwear. He lets out a tense moan and shakes his head, a little embarrassed. 

“This could quite easily be over before it's begun,” he confesses. 

“Then so be it.” She can't deny him a quick release after her recent performance.

Besides, she's pretty certain that it's been a while since either of them had had any pleasure like this.

 

She presses her body along his with her hand wedged between them as she fondles him lightly. His breathing irregulates when her fingers flutter against his balls, so she repeats the action and bites her lip when she gets the same response. His eyes finally open and he’s greeted with the sight of her teeth sinking into the rosy flesh of her lower lip and he can’t stop the overwhelming desire that tsunamis through him. His arms wrap around her back just in time to prevent her from toppling over at the surprising force of him colliding with her, her own hands coming to grip onto his biceps in order to stay upright. He kisses her passionately and feels one of her legs wind around the back of his knee to nudge him closer. When they’re forced to separate in order to ease the burning of their starved lungs, she calms her nervous breathing and gathers the hem of her t-shirt in her fingers. He catches the movement and takes the offered material into his own hands, gazing at her for further permission. She holds her arms up and he gently unveils her pale skin as he lifts it over her head and tosses it aside; her shoulders hunching protectively, unexpectedly shy and anxious as his eyes drop to her torso. It takes a moment, but then he releases the breath he’d been holding with a shuddering sigh. 

“Stunning,” he whispers as he bends to peck her lips. He slips his hands into hers and quickly pulls her with him as he goes to the edge of the bed. He sweeps her into a kiss and spins them so that the back of her knees knock against the mattress and she clutches the sides of his face as he carefully lowers her onto the bed; propping himself above her, his full hardness cushioned in the dip between her legs. 

 

He drags his lips away, eliciting a saddened whimper until he connects them again to her sternum. He peppers light kisses down the valley of her breasts and then below each one; unable to get enough of her hot skin and comforting scent. His thumbs caress the sensitive flesh on the outside of each bosom and he plants a wet buss on the dusky pink around her nipple. When he pulls back to blow cool air over the damp spots, she quivers as her nipples harden and he latches onto one, sucking and swirling his tongue and groaning at the feeling of the bud in his mouth. Once he’s given the same attentions to the other breast, he slides further down her body until he’s face to face with the white knots of her scar. She tenses as his lips brush over the tight skin; he treats it with his praise, as he had done with the rest of her body, but doesn’t linger nor single it out. 

 

She begins to relax again when he moves further south, eventually swiping his tongue along the hollow of her hip as his fingers skim the hot, smooth flesh on the inside of her thighs. She reaches for him, longing to clasp something in her fists and ends up bunching the crisp cotton of the bedsheets. Their eyes meet over the contours of her body and it suddenly feels like too much. She holds a hand out and he takes it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. The darkness stands still for them. Despite watching one another, it takes the light refracting in a tear on her cheek for him to notice the overwhelming vehemence pooling in her eyes. His stomach drops as he considers the possibility of upsetting her, so he shuffles up next her and dabs the tear with the pad of his thumb. She kisses him and it helps sober her from the emotion that had been ripping through her. 

“It’s good,” she reassures between grazes of their lips, not wanting him to think she’s upset.

“Are you sure?”

She nods against him. “Yes, yes. I promise.”

It’s the closest she can get to confessing the truth behind why she feels so overpowered; she loves him. “I’m not crying,” she points out, seeing his concern. “Now,  _ please _ let me feel you.”

She nudges his underwear down his hip and it encourages him to get to his knees, helping her tug them the rest of the way before he wriggles his feet from them. Her mouth goes dry as she eyes him, standing rigidly to attention in front of her as he drops his boxers over the edge of the bed. When he turns back to her she quirks an eyebrow and he chuckles, relaxing a bit now that she’s seen him in all his naked glory. She sits up to meet his gaze and wraps a hand around his member, running a thumb over the head and feeling his excitement in the slight stickiness there. Continuing her ministrations with the one hand, the other comes to the waistband of her underwear as she manages to manoeuvre them to her knees. He’d wanted to unveil her himself, except he’s struggling to focus when she’s working him the way she is. He places his hands on her exposed backside as she unhooks the underwear from her feet and discards them, tossing them in the vague direction of the footboard.

“Clean?” she breathes out before taking his lips to hers. It takes him a moment to process, then nods. He’s not sure what they’d have done otherwise. He tries to recall if there’s still a long forgotten condom in his overnight bag, but decides that it would probably be out of date anyway. “Me too. We’re good.”

She falls back onto the mattress and pulls on his shoulders. When he’s lying above her, propped on his elbows again, she brings her feet up to curl her toes into the sheets and cradle him between her thighs. His length glides between her slick folds and they moan at the heat of one another.

“Inside,” she pleads when he nudges against her clit and sends a jolt of want through her. 

He reaches between them to take hold of himself and line up with her centre, then pushes his tip inside; her knees coming to grip his hips as she feels him fill her inch by inch. Once their crotches are flush, he stills.

“I just need… a moment,” he grinds out as he desperately tries to regain control; being held deep in her core is testing his composure.

She smiles softly, understanding and also grateful to be having time to adjust as well. Several seconds pass before she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip to refrain from the tempting roll of her hips and when he sees this, he kisses her gratefully. It’s whilst their tongues are mid-caress that he shifts inside her as he draws out and then slowly sinks back in. The movement evokes a laboured breath from them both, so he repeats it, keeping it gentle. She’d never have thought she’d be so aroused by such calm sex, yet here she is, finding it all the more stimulating—both physically and emotionally. It’s not long before she’s rocking her hips to meet him and that seems to spur him on; his thrusts become a little faster and harder and she happily adjusts her own tempo so that he buries himself deeper each time. 

 

It’s as she feels the welcome burn in her gut that he grunts and pulls out; as though reluctantly giving up something  _ good _ for something  _ better _ . He pushes himself off and sits back on his haunches, taking her hands to haul her upright and then softly encouraging her to turn around. She catches sight of him glistening with her essence and she follows his directions, finding herself on all fours with the headboard within reach. 

“Okay?” he checks as she feels him nudge against her folds. 

“Don’t hold back,” she instructs. 

He smiles at her words and enters her with a strong thrust, earning a pleased cry as the new angle allows him to plunge deeper. He draws back, nearly pulling out of her completely, and then pushes in again with the same vigour. He repeats the steady movement a few more times—Jac’s hands gripping onto the headboard for support—and then returns to the gentle roll of his hips. They rock together, Fletch holding her waist and helping her meet his rhythm; it continues to send waves of pleasure through them both, but he knows it won’t be enough to get them over the edge. With that in mind, he presses a chaste kiss to her spine and then begins increasing his momentum. After a short while, her inner walls start fluttering around his cock and he sinks deeper into her, amazed that he’s got any control left. He reaches a hand beneath her abdomen to locate her clit and as soon as his finger rubs a tight circle she’s arching and calling his name. His persistent thrusts charge her orgasm as he chases after his own release and her walls clamp around him, making her channel even tighter and stars explode in front of his eyes. His thighs meet the back of hers as he gives a final drive into her and then his hands are squeezing onto her hips as his own climax tears through him. She reaches back to hold his fingers, her languid attempt at comforting him, and waits for him to finish; her own limbs desperate to give up their weight as they become limp from pleasure. 

 

A few quiet moments pass until he slips from her and she feels their combined fluids tickle the insides of her thighs. She doesn’t wait for him to move out of the way before she faceplants the bed and stretches out her legs either side of his. He chuckles at how adorable she looks and places a soothing hand on the small of her back as he comes to collapse beside her. When she eventually peeks out from the duvet, she eyes him and he can tell she’s smiling.

“I should have had that coffee after dinner,” he jokes, yawning. 

There’s a ruffle of duvet hiding the lower half of her face, so she lifts her head and flattens it beneath her chin.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t miss out on much.”

“No good?”

She shakes her head. “If it  _ had  _ been any good then I can assure you, I would not be lying down right now.”

He quirks an eyebrow and smirks at her implication. “Maybe it was decaf.”

“Maybe.” She brings her arms to fold beneath her head as she lies on her stomach beside him, both of them humouring their thoughts.

 

They rest silently for several minutes, the chill in the room starting to cool the sweat on their skin. It’s peaceful. That is until he groans with discomfort as he rolls over onto his back. 

“Is this what it’s going to be like? Stiff joints and resting?” 

She can’t help but laugh. “I think this is called being out of practice and old.”

“Speak for yourself.” He winks and leans over to peck her head. “Nah, I think you may be right. We’ll be doing precautionary warm-ups before long.”

A chortle sings from her throat at his rather unexpected comment and she flops onto her back, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “I’m sure that’ll really emphasise the appeal; getting stuck mid-lunge.”

His heart swells at her humour and he shifts onto his side to kiss her. It’s slow and lazy in their bliss. When they pull back for air, he takes the opportunity to sit up and turn on a bedside lamp. He admires her afresh, bathed in the cosy orange glow, and then finally speaks.

“How I resisted you for so long, I do not know.”

She narrows her eyes and sits up, unsure how to accept his compliment. “Hmm, well, I think we both deserve a medal for stubborn denial. I must say, you did make it difficult.” 

He beams at that, his heart thrumming happily at her confession.

“Here’s a sexy proposition for you… how about we get cleaned up and then go to bed.”

“In the sleeping sense, or..?”

He wiggles his eyebrows comically and nods. “In the sleeping sense.”

An exaggerated, flirtatious expression lightens her face. “You read my mind.”

They  _ had  _ been up since at least five this morning, after all. She races for the ensuite and shuts the door before he barely takes a step.

 

Once they’ve both cleaned up and brushed their teeth, they wrestle on pyjama t-shirts and fresh underwear then jump beneath the covers. There was no doubt in either of them about sharing the bed, not even a second of hesitation. She notices that he’d gathered their scattered clothes whilst she’d been in the bathroom and had made a pile for each of their belongings on the ottoman at the end of the bed, whereas she’d drawn the curtains and turned down the duvet whilst he’d been getting ready. They know each other well enough.

 

Jac’s on her side, facing him, and drags the duvet up over her shoulder then nestles it around his. Their faces are mere inches apart, hands wedged between cheek and pillow, and cocooned by thick quilt; their own snug little bubble.

“This is certainly the best party I’ve been to,” she murmurs. “Sex and bed by eleven.”

He smiles at the reminder. “Efficient.”

She grins. She finds his fingers beneath the covers and softly fiddles with them as they listen to the hushed sounds of each other’s breathing. And that is how they fall asleep.

  
  


Jac wakes early the next morning, as usual, and finds herself pressed against him. The light pooling beneath the curtains is fresh and bright and just about reaches across the room, hazily illuminating the furniture. Fletch’s arm is slung over her waist with his hand splayed on the mattress and his front cushioning her back. It’s his familiar scent and comforting warmth that lulls her to sleep again.

 

He stirs behind her and the foreign movement of someone beside her in bed rouses her again quickly. She’s not sure what time it is, but her head feels both groggy from too much sleep and also far more alert than it had done in weeks. Months even. There’s a strange feeling at the base of her back and it’s only when she shifts slightly that she realises his semi-erect crotch is pressing against the cleft of her bottom. She squints at her watch and startles, rolling over to encourage him to wake up despite his mind coming to with her sudden movement. 

“Fletch, it’s gone half eleven,” she urgently whispers, not wanting to panic him. He unwillingly opens an eye and then seems to recall the past day’s events; smiling lazily and stretching, before leaning over to kiss her. His hardness brushes against her leg and he knows there’s no way she could have failed to have noticed it. He grimaces sheepishly. “We have that oh-so-appealing family dinner to get to,” she tells him, pushing his chest away as he tries to reconnect their lips. He groans as she flings the duvet back, but it’s quickly swallowed when he sees her bare legs and delightful peaks of her breasts through her nightshirt. “Come  _ on _ .”

“Wish I’d never agreed to going,” he grumbles, watching her get up.

“Yes, well, as much as I’d love to forget about it too, I know that yesterday you wanted to go.”

“But yesterday I didn’t have the option of staying in bed with you.”

“I can’t remember the last time I slept in so late,” she muses aloud, ignoring his petulance.

“Jac,” he whines.

“We don’t have time-”

“We can make time-”

“If you stopped whingeing for a few seconds...” She glares pointedly. “We’ll need to multitask.” He frowns, not liking the sound of that; far too much effort. “And we need to shower.”

“I need to sort myself out.”

“If you  _ listen _ , then you’ll hear what I’m saying.” She quirks a brow and saunters off to the bathroom.

He lies there feeling rather downtrodden by her impatience and rubs a hand over his face… But then her words hit him and he practically flies from the bed to the ensuite. She’d wondered how long it would take. 

 

Her top’s gone by the time he reaches her and she’s testing the temperature of the water spraying down from the shower. 

“About bloody time,” she says, a smirk highlighting her amusement. 

“You should know that riddles and subtlety don’t mean a lot to me first thing.”

She kisses him passionately, reasoning that she’s technically waiting for the water to heat up so it’s not a waste of time. 

The ensuite is rather modern compared to the rest of the hotel; it has sleek tiles and a lit mirror over the basin, the room generally has a nice finish. As for the shower, there’s a detachable shower head slotted into a bracket on the wall and a fixed rainfall shower head coming from the ceiling above; all separated by a glass panel. Splendid, she thinks. 

She removes his boxers as he strips off his top and then wriggles free of her own underwear. Certainly no time for appreciative exploration this morning. She leads him into the shower and he urgently pushes her back against the far wall, moulding his body to hers with the hot spray of water pattering over his shoulders. He kisses her and maps her body with his hands as he nips at her collarbone and sucks away any pain. This is certainly different to last night. 

“How daring are you feeling?” he questions.

She eyes him, unable to stop the rush of excitement. “Do your worst.” 

He unhooks the shower head from its bracket, appreciating the warmth still offered by the water falling from above, and pins her against the wall with his forearm across her tummy. He drops to his knees and encourages her to tilt her pelvis towards him. She’d obviously been having a similar dream to his, for her arousal is evident.

 

He nudges her legs a little further apart before dipping his head in to gently lap at her clit with the flat of his tongue. She’d been expecting more dithering, so the sudden stimulation has her twisting her fingers through the short, damp hair on the back of his head and holding him to her with muttered words of encouragement. He takes the opportunity to extend his tongue through her folds and taste her, moaning his delight at her flavour bursting in his mouth. The vibrations travel from the back of his throat and straight to her core, her hips uncontrollably undulate against him as her head falls back to rest on the cool tiles. He finally pulls away and gently uses his fingers to tease out her clit from its hood, bringing the shower head level and aiming the rivulets at the slick little bud. She sighs at the warmth and pressure of the water, but then he’s adjusting the angle and her knees buckle at the powerful jolt of pleasure that courses through her. He supports her weight and flicks the spritz from the shower over her again, receiving a wince at the almost painful thrill that shoots to her core. He experiments with the angle and duration of the water jetting onto her, and finds that her folds become slick with arousal as steam billows around them. He swipes his tongue over his lips at the sight. Remembering that they are in a rush, after all, he casts the shower head aside and delves into her heat; mouth sealed around her sensitive bundle of nerves. He hears her desperate cries and wraps his hands around the back of her thighs to give him better purchase in his ministrations as she erratically moves in response to his stimulation. She begins rolling her hips against his face and he helps hook her leg over his shoulder, opening her up and letting his tongue push inside. He laps and sucks and thrusts, the sight and sound of her writhing above him bringing his cock to full hardness. When he feels her thighs quaking, he wonders whether she’ll be upright for much longer so replaces his tongue with two fingers and gets to his feet. He slides an arm around her waist and presses against her, hoping it’ll be enough to keep her from falling as he curls two fingers to brush along the sensitive spot inside her. She clings to his shoulders and her eyes squeeze shut with her head dropping forward to rest on his chest.

“Jac,” he coos. “I want to see you.” He kisses her hair and she lifts her head, their gazes locking with their pupils blown wide. It’s not long until he feels her clenching around his fingers, so he quickly pulls them out and she whimpers at the loss. But then he’s thrusting up into her, her walls squeezing his cock as she comes. He watches her face, in awe at seeing her climax whilst also looking for any protest at him continuing. When he sees none, he kisses her before pulling her legs to wrap around his waist and gripping her hips; moving her along his shaft and pistoning his hips into her with a force neither of them had yet to use with one another. Just as her orgasm subsides, she arches into him and cries out his name, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as her over sensitive core is rocked into another climax. He hisses at the pain of her bite and drives into her a little harder, muttering sweet nothings as he nears the edge. And then he’s reaching a hand for the wall to hold them up as he shoots his load inside her. Her arms are tightly enveloping his shoulders and he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck as she soothingly strokes over the top of his spine.

“Okay?” she checks after a few moments. 

“Dandy.” He beams as he helps her to her feet.

“Good, because we need to hurry.” He nods, happily obliging and smiling despite his earlier reluctance at the prospect of a family dinner. She grabs the complimentary small bottle of shampoo from the ledge and squeezes some into his palm. “And while you’re at it, wash that shit-eating grin off your face.” She smirks at his post-sex cheeriness and goes about lathering her own hair. 

 

They finish showering and then swathe themselves with towels as they dry off. It’s then that Jac catches sight of herself in the mirror.

“Shit! You better hope my clothes cover this,” she exclaims as she runs the pads of her fingers over the blossoming red mark on her collarbone. He smiles, impressed with his masterpiece and comes to survey himself in the mirror. He sees the aggressive red marks she’d left with her teeth just now, alongside a sprinkling of pink grooves from her nails—both yesterday’s and today’s. There’s also a bruise in the crook of his neck and he looks to her for a response. 

“You like to mark your territory,” he comments. She trails her hands over his back and spins him around so that he’s facing her. 

“I take it these don’t hurt, then?” she asks, amused. He twists his head to look in the mirror behind him and finds red lines marking his back from her teasing antics last night.

He chuckles at the sight of them both with their hickeys and kisses her, but she pats his arse after a few moments in his embrace to hurry him along. She tucks the towel around her torso before walking back into their room and brushing out her tangled wet tendrils of hair. 


	6. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update and thank you to Bethany for brainstorming this final chapter with me. Get your sick buckets ready, this is one nauseatingly sweet and slightly OOC chapter. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you’ve enjoyed the fic :)

They’re jovially bickering as they rush down the corridor, running late for the family dinner. Whilst they had been happy for things to have gone no further than their kiss at the party last night, they’d ended up revelling in the pleasure they could offer one another. This had gone on to inspire them in the shower this morning, hence their current tardiness. Jac’s still fastening her hair in a ponytail as they trot down the stairs to the lobby and he silently marvels at her in the black jumpsuit that she’d decided against wearing yesterday. It looks all the more appealing now that it’s properly donned and not gaping open at the back. She’d been nervous about it before they’d left their room, but with a rather hearty kiss to her lips she’d accepted that perhaps it would be okay. Neither of them are looking anywhere near as presentable as they had been yesterday, with their rush excluding normal grooming habits such as hair or makeup. He’d had to make do with a quick blast of the hairdryer after she’d used it and bypassed the gel and comb, whereas she’d simply taken the worst off and had hoped wearing it in a ponytail would mask the natural waves and remaining dampness.

 

As they round the corner to the dining room, Fletch reaches for her wrist and softly tugs her back to prevent her from going any further. 

“We need a code word,” he says. 

She’s about to laugh and then realises his sincerity. “...Okay…” she responds, a little fragmented.

“I’m not kidding! You don’t know these people. We need one to change the topic of conversation and one for complete mission abort.” 

“I think you’re being a little melodramatic but I’ll humour you. If we need an out, we’ll just say the kids are ill. If we want to shift conversation then we’ll just ask to pass the wine, okay?”

“But I’m driving.”

“Therefore, you won’t actually be asking for it, will you? We don’t want to use something you’d say, otherwise I may mistake the genuine request for our little MI5 routine, hmm?”

He doesn’t miss her sarcasm and gives her a warning glare; she’s not going to know what’s hit her once she’s sat amongst the Fletcher family tree. She ignores his expression and with a roll of her eyes they push open the door to the dining room. There are a few other tables in use by couples and families, but her attention is immediately drawn to the large table spread along the far wall. Maybe she hadn’t been aware of just what she was getting herself into. 

“The kids are ill, the kids are ill,” she hisses beneath her breath. He chuckles and wraps an arm around her shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the material before sliding his hand down to the small of her back and encouraging her forward. Once they near the table, it’s as though the entire group has some sort of telepathic connection because they all turn to face the Holby couple at the exact same time. A few cheers, coos, quirked brows greet them as Bessie hurries over and engulfs them in a rather perfumey embrace. Jac tries not to show her horror at this but it comes across as an incredibly uncertain and wavering smile. 

“Oh now, dear, no need to be scared! We’re a rowdy bunch but we shan’t bite!” she reassures, cupping Jac’s cheeks with her pudgy hands. Fletch smirks at this, knowing that Jac is usually the one to be doing the biting. “Everyone, remember our Adrian? And this is his partner _ ,  _ Jac.”

His family all smile up at the pair and a man gets to his feet.

“Nice to finally see you again,” he says to Fletch, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. Jac figures he’s Kate’s brother as there’s an uncanny resemblance; same nose structure and chin. “And it’s nice to meet you,” he turns to her. She’s grateful for his proffered hand, already finding the whole hugging inclination a little overbearing.

It’s only as Jac’s shaking his cousin’s hand that Fletch realises how the context has changed. Suddenly it isn’t a ruse, a family gathering that Jac can go on to mock or find amusing, it’s her genuine acquaintance with them as his new…  girlfriend? He’s not sure what exactly he and Jac are, what she sees for them in the future, but for goodness’ sake, how could he not pick up on her underlying nerves? She’d been intimate with him for the first time ever last night, yet today she’s meeting the parents, so to speak. Their rush this morning had meant that he’d skipped over her usual tells; simply not having the time to notice her nervous quirks. He vows to himself that they won’t endure this for too long.

 

There are further greetings and introductions; Fletch officially meets the groom and his parents, plus his two brothers. Jac’s seated at the far end with Fletch beside her, although he wonders whether to switch places as there’s a highchair at the head of the table and he’s not sure if her patience can stand that today. A few minutes later, a woman returns with an infant in her arms and changing bag over her shoulder. Turns out she’s married to Kate’s brother and he guesses that  _ that _ wedding invite and birth announcement got lost in the post. Jac eyes the baby as he gets buckled into the highchair and when she turns to find Fletch watching her, she offers a rather well-rehearsed smile. They both avert their attention towards the rest of the table as they all cheerfully discuss the wedding and a few relatives pester the pair for life updates in Holby. It doesn’t take long before everyone’s attention is on Jac when Gary’s father excitedly shares his newly acquired information; Jac’s a surgeon! There are  _ oo _ s and  _ ahh _ s and expectant eyes as they wait for Jac to say something about heart transplants or surgery.

“So you operate on hearts?”

“What happens if you take the heart out?”

“Do you have pictures?”

Jac looks a little blankly to Fletch and wonders where the wine is when she needs it.

“We do all sorts, it’s not just exciting heart transplants all the time,” Fletch states, trying to calm the crowd.

“Wait, you do surgery? I thought you were a nurse?” someone questions.

“He is a nurse. In fact, he’s Director of Nursing,” Jac informs, and he’s sure he can hear a hint of pride in her tone. “We need nurses to assist in theatre.”

“So, he holds stuff for you?” an unknown voice questions.

Jac’s eyes flicker to Fletch briefly and she hates how they undermine his role. “He pretty much runs half of the hospital because he’s in charge of all the nurses, and we need a lot of them. He and I have been putting in the same hours recently. In fact, he puts in more. Plus, he  _ does  _ get his hands dirty in theatre because he’s not my personal shelf. That’s what F1s are for.” He chuckles at her last comment, but the joke seems to go unnoticed by the others. 

“Get our Adrian being a charming lifesaver  _ and  _ head of admin,” Kate praises.

“That’s certainly the less enjoyable part,” he replies, referring to the paperwork.

 

They all order their meals and continue chatting, breaking off into smaller groups unlike the collective discussion earlier. Fletch talks with his cousin, Ben, who’s seated opposite, whilst Ben’s wife fusses the baby. Jac’s a little startled when a small, wooden book shoots across the table and into her lap. She picks it up and recognises the crinkly sound in the padding of the front cover, apparently it’s the go-to stimulation for every baby toy. She quickly flicks through the picture pages and on each one there’s a different material; a mirrored sheet for a pond, smooth plastic for a ball, tufts of faux fur for a duck, shiny sequins for the sun, and so on. The baby looks at her curiously, even when she passes the book back. When he doesn’t take it from her, she presses her fingers into the squishy front cover and the material rustles, which he finds hilarious. She frowns, not understanding the humour of it, but repeats the action. Again, the sound elicits an innocent giggle. Resting the book on the tray of the highchair, Jac turns the page and ruffles the fluff on the duck’s back, encouraging the baby to do the same. He seems unimpressed at first but then he leans forward and jabs a tiny finger into the fur. Fletch catches the movement from the corner of his eye and smiles softly, despite being a little surprised, and continues his conversation. Ben’s wife, Alex, seems to relax at the two unlikely pals interacting. She can tell Jac isn’t much of a baby person and seeing that book fly into her lap had made the poor woman nearly keel over from fear and embarrassment. 

“Have you got children?” Alex asks. She’s sitting opposite Jac and with their two partners deep in conversation beside them, they’re more secluded from the rest of the group. 

“One,” Jac responds. The younger woman seems a little unsure and Jac hates that she feels a slither of guilt at being so blunt. “A daughter,” she elaborates.

“How old?”

“Four. She’ll be starting school in September.”

“Goodness, I can’t imagine Tom going to school.” Alex looks dotingly at her son who’s feasting on his slobbered fists. 

“It happens quicker than you’d think.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me, but it feels like the sleepless nights have gone on forever.”

“If you have any more children, be clever with your timing. Adrian’s got two teens and two under six. He’s probably only had a few years in the past fifteen where he’s not been up with one of them in the night.”

“Four kids?!” 

“I don’t know what he was thinking either.”

Jac finally abandons the book she’d been pointlessly fiddling with in front of the unamused child.

 

It’s not long until their food arrives and Jac certainly doesn’t miss the mess babies make when eating. She’s just glad she won’t have to clean it up. Fletch gets dragged into a discussion further down the table, so for the most part Jac keeps to herself or, surprisingly, turns to Alex for conversation. She doesn’t mind not having Fletch’s company, it’s what she’d been expecting, and to be fair he’s yet to break their first rule; don’t invite conversation with relatives that she has to take part in. He’d well and truly ignored the other two rules, however; although she can’t punish him for breaking the one about hands above waist when she can still feel the heat of his fingers on her. A rather delightful shiver works its way up her spine as she recalls the events of the past day.

 

They’re sat around the table for about another hour until Fletch turns to her and asks if she’s ready to go. She’s unable to refrain from the sharp nod of her head, so he smiles gratefully at her patience and shrugs on his jacket. 

“We’re going to have to get going,” Fletch says to the group. “We’ve both got work tomorrow and kids to sort out.”

There’s a round of farewells as the two prepare to depart. Hugs, kisses, well wishes. And unbelievably there’s something in Jac that makes her never want to leave. They’re so warm and welcoming and unlike anything she’s ever experienced. Even though Fletch insists he’s not particularly close with his family, they’d all got on and accepted her as one of their own; a sense of familial belonging thawing out the forgotten iced veins in her heart that her mother had left behind all those years ago.

 

They head back to their room to change into the casual clothes they’d worn on the journey here and to pack up the remainders of their overnight bags. Upon entering, Jac ducks into the ensuite to collect her washbag. When she returns, he suddenly grasps her hand and tugs her nearer; wanting to steal a final moment with her in this haven outside of Holby. They both feel a little more reserved since they were last here, the change in atmosphere provoking doubtful thoughts.

“Unless you need to get back, there’s one more stop I wouldn’t mind making.”

She stares expectantly into his eyes; an intimate gaze that they both remember doing several times before this weekend. “I suppose that depends on where you plan on taking me,” she murmurs.

“Beach?” He’s too lost in the depth of her eyes to even consider correct grammar.

“Somebody taken your determiners?” She smirks and moves away, wriggling her hand free from his. “But if you want to go, then we can. I will need to be back by seven though, so we don’t have long.”

“That’s perfect!” he beams, hurrying past her to grab his clothes before disappearing into the bathroom. She smiles softly, it’s as though she’d not already seen him stark naked, but she appreciates his hesitancy as it mirrors her own.

 

Once they’ve finished changing and gathered their things, they check out of the hotel and clamber into the car. Jac had looked up the nearest beach on her phone and agreed that it may be a worthwhile visit, since the closest ‘beach’ to Holby is rather derelict and muddy. As they drive the short distance, she considers her past experiences of the seaside and reaches the conclusion that he’d probably be distraught if he found out about her handful of previous trips; she didn’t build sandcastles or play in the sea or bring a beach ball, she got shit on by a seagull and attempted the boring task of sunbathing and reluctantly walked the length of the promenade. But he’s excited so she’s not about to rain on his parade.

 

When he parks and they get out, she immediately despises the sand crunching beneath her bulky shoes on the tarmac, so she unties them and leaves them in the footwell of his car. Fletch returns from the parking meter to find her barefoot and he quirks an eyebrow, not at all expecting Jac Naylor to frolick sans shoes across the road and onto the beach. He holds back the chuckle at such an image and decides that even without shoes, Jac won’t be doing  _ any  _ frolicking.

“Ready?” he checks.

They walk down the narrow road, Fletch taking Jac’s hand to help her hobble over rubble from potholes, until they finally reach the beach. It’s not like any she’s been to before, it’s quiet and fairly secluded, most likely only those looking for it would know it’s here. There’s soft sand and further round the cove are terracotta cliffs, fallen debris and boulders forming—what she imagines are—great rock pools brimming with life. She knows that if Sacha were here, he’d be knelt down and joyfully analysing the different forms of algae hidden within each crevice.

It’s as she’s pondering her friend’s little idiosyncrasies that Fletch suddenly announces, “Race you to the sea!”

She recoils in horror and begins protesting but, damn it, he’s winning and she can’t stand that! She takes off after him and can tell that this is something he most likely does every time he’s at the beach. Fumbling with the material over her thigh, she tries wiggling her joggers up her leg in preparation for the waves that’ll inevitably be lapping at her feet. He’s certainly much faster than she is, but then she realises his downfall just as he does; he’s still got his trainers on. He takes to hopping down the beach whilst trying to free his other foot and she advances on him whilst he clumsily tugs on his shoe. 

“Need some help with that?” she mocks as she overtakes him, spinning around so that she can watch him as she slows her pace to a light jog. He resorts to stopping and yanking each trainer off before glancing up to find her walking backwards towards the sea but grinning tauntingly at him.

“Don’t go jumping the gun, Naylor,” he warns as he takes a few steps closer. She backs up, both of them like a lion on its prey; waiting for that first flash of movement when one of them starts running. Jac’s eyes are trained steadily on his as her adrenaline keeps her on her toes and he slowly prowls forward. 

 

It’s then that her patience snaps and she spins and darts for the ocean. She hears him pick up pace behind her and then suddenly her body moves in reverse, despite her efforts. He scoops her up by the waist and swings her round before plonking her down on the sand, physically putting her in second place. She huffs but can’t help the grin as she chases after him and into the sea. His heels kick up the surf and she waves her hands in front of her to defend herself from the spray in her face. The water isn’t as icy as she’d thought it would be, the afternoon sun must have warmed it a little.The hems of his jeans get damp so he ruffles them up to his knees and turns back to her. 

“You cheated,” she points out. “It’s a no contact sport.”

“Just can’t help myself!”

Will his charm and wit ever stop a smile from tugging at her lips? To try and make herself feel better about his unfair triumph, she flicks her foot across the surface of the shallow water so that it splashes up his legs. He looks at her, challenging her to repeat the action. She considers his lighthearted warning but before she can react a wave larger than the previous ones crashes against her shins. They both stand there a little shocked as the water seeps into the bunched material at their knees.

“Seeing as we’re wet already,” he says as his cupped hands skim the sea. She doesn’t have time to process his words because she’s then drenched by his antics. 

“Fletch!” she yelps, looking down at herself.

“We’ve got clothes in the car!”

“But they’re not comfy.” She pouts comically and he can’t help but pull her to him. 

“Leave it to dry on the sand then.” She pulls back from his embrace to find him quirking an eyebrow. “No one’s here.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He whips his t-shirt off and holds out his arms, proving how simple it could be. He can see her considering his suggestion and he irons out the pensive crease between her brows with the pad of his thumb.

“Fine, but I’m keeping my top on. You’re a bad influence.” 

She retreats to the sand and removes her joggers, cautiously checking for any passersby. Her t-shirt hangs around her upper thighs and conceals her underwear and bottom, which she’s grateful for. Splaying her trousers on the sand beside his shoes to dry, she finds herself in his shadow as he hovers over her. “You tell anyone about this, Fletcher, and you’re dead.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She stands back up and isn’t all that bothered to see him stood there in just his boxers. “Now we can go paddle!”

She traipses after him, rather unconvinced that the sea can actually offer fun that’s worthy of her parading around semi-naked. 

 

After several minutes of wave-jumping and sloshing the water about her feet she figures that perhaps this isn’t so bad afterall. They splash each other and feel the salt of the sea tingle on their skin. The ocean air twists her tendrils into sun-kissed wisps about her shoulders and the reflection of the sun off the waves reflects dazzlingly in their eyes. It’s idyllic.

 

When they finally become aware of time again, they realise that they’re testing the limits for getting Jac home in time for Emma. They scoop up their scattered clothing and walk up the beach, allowing their legs time to dry off before slipping back into their trousers, the hems still slightly damp. Jac tiptoes up the road, to avoid the concrete from jabbing the sensitive arches of her feet, and they make it back to the car.

“Time to head home, I guess,” Fletch muses aloud, the disappointment evident in his voice. 

“I guess so.”

“It’s been a nice weekend though?” he both states and questions. 

She nods and smiles. “I would have to agree.”

She reaches a hand across the centre console and squeezes his fingers appreciatively. They gaze softly at one another for a few moments before he starts the engine and they begin their long journey home. There’s still things they’ll have to discuss, but he figures that there’s no rush. In their own time. 

 

_ ~Fin~ _


End file.
